


Dark Delight

by Imperfectcurl



Series: Blind Navigation [2]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Extremis Tony Stark, M/M, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2019-11-09 08:17:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 21,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17998241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imperfectcurl/pseuds/Imperfectcurl
Summary: The Winter Soldier and Tony Stark attempt face what comes next together





	1. What have I done?

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to thank everyone for their kindness on the last fic. This is a continuation that starts off some hours after the end of the last one.
> 
> This chapter is James' POV

Survive the mission; survive the calibration; survive Hydra.

As James sat alone in the corner of the absurdly futuristic jet, a computer piloting him home, he repeated the words in his head.

Survive the mission; survive the calibration; survive Hydra.

He had done it.

Survive the mission; survive the calibration; survive Hydra.

But now what?

For decades, the Soldier had meticulously planned—made them, revised them, discarded them—on how exactly he would reach his путеводная звезда*. Adapted. Persisted. Endured. But there had never really been an After. He’d never actually thought this far.

Maybe because he hadn't believed getting away was really possible; maybe because he hadn't believed he'd be accepted even if he did.  But James had invaded Hydra none the less, rescued his mate, and blindly followed him home with no plan or inkling of what to expect.

And it. Was. Terrifying.

The things he knew about himself could be counted on one hand—none of which included how to be an actual _person_. When this plane landed, he wasn’t playing Bucky; he wasn’t playing Hydra’s dog. James would need to be someone worth Tony’s attention. Someone worth _something_.

Part of him was convinced he wasn’t even headed to New York; that Tony had put him on this plane to send him back to _them_ —to _Steven_.

_Friday’s right, we can’t arrive together. I have to make a public return if I want anyone to believe I’m alive and you’re still a fugitive. This plane is going to get you home—I’ve programmed its path myself—and by the time you reach the Tower, I’ll be there to greet you._

_I promise, James._

James stood and paced, snarling out loud because he could. Because he was alone. Because it would break whatever little seed Tony might have planted in his soul to look up in a few more hours and see a jungle.

Because he should have never allowed himself to leave his Half’s side.

With each passing hour, James found himself more agitated, more doubtful. The path his plane took bounced from airspace to airspace, staying low and unobtrusive but taking too long and utterly disorienting him.

He found it all too much; akin to the feeling he would get when his brain had come back online before his lungs had fully defrosted—those excruciating moments when he had to hold his breath even as every instinct inside him screamed to breathe—when he wasn't sure if he would manage to make it. By the time he’d landed, he was curled up in the corner, his hands sunk deep in his hair, his face pressed against the cool metal of his arm.

Survive the mission; survive the calibration; survive Hydra.

The Fist of Hydra would simply get up, he reminded himself. Simply walk off the plane to face the consequence of the naive trust he had exposed himself to. Take his punishment.

Survive the mission; survive the calibration; survive Hydra.

Or burn the world trying.

James forced himself to stand and step outside.

\---

Sometimes James thought that, if the Chair had been able to burn his very essence, burn away that unrelenting emptiness he felt, he might have been able to find some sort of peace. But despite what many thought, the Chair did very little to touch who he was. That was the pain.

Unending, unimaginable pain.

For one horrifying moment, that pain paled in comparison to the feeling of finding out Tony was decidedly _not there._ James’ worse fears slammed into his gut; the hole in him screamed in agony; his heart threatened to simply stop.

But he knew he was in New York, he reasoned—it had changed quite a bit, but he could tell—and he was definitely on _a_ tower. He realized belatedly he was cursing loudly in Russian when he’d barely registered the ‘ding’ to his right.

Two elevator doors opened.

He strode over without hesitation and stepped inside. He was going to kill his genius for this. He was going to kill everyone in this goddamned place.

“Good evening, Sergeant Barnes.”

James glanced up to find the camera embedded in the ceiling’s corner. “Miss Friday…” He rolled his metal shoulder, uncomfortable, and took parade rest. He didn’t want to hurt _her._

_Stardust, do you think Friday is a human?_

_Obviously; she is your secretary, is she not?_

_…Not going to touch that; she's an AI. The others never talked about her?_

_Is that a term for an Asset?_

_What? No! She's an Artificial Intelligence—she's a computer, James. I mean, my baby girl’s not a_ computer, _she’s so much more than that but she isn’t human like you're thinking… She doesn’t ‘get off work’._

_Does that mean I can’t meet her?_

_No, no... you can. But I suggest you never call her a secretary to her face._

_Why?_

_She controls the air conditioning._

 “Where is Tony?” James ground out the question and _tried_ to reign his temper in. He liked Friday; he was afraid of Friday.

He trusted Friday.

“Boss is currently being detained by the United States Military.”

“ _Take me back up._ ”

“You will absolutely do no such thing.”

James turned, admittedly unaware that the elevator had stopped and the doors opened, to find a formidable redhead standing at the entrance to an expensive-looking, step-down living room.

Ms. Potts, he recognized. It wasn’t exactly dark in the room, but the contrast made her white blazer—buttoned and belted black to match the fitted skirt—practically glow. She reminded him of an avenging angel here to set him straight. He particularly liked the stab-your-eye-out stilettos.

“I have been extracting Tony from these messes for years; I appreciate your help in his rescue, but this is my realm and you will let me do my job.”

 “If you were doing your job, he’d be here. How long has he been _detained_?”

“6 hours, 23 minutes and 12 seconds,” Friday chirped helpfully.

Pepper glared at the closest camera.

“You’ve had your chance and have failed. I will get him.” James looked for the control panel only to realize there wasn’t one.

Didn’t matter; he’d find a way out.

“Maybe I wasn’t _clear_ , Mr. Barnes. If you leave this floor, I will personally ensure you do not get to come back in. Regardless of what Tony wants.”

His Half was missing and she wanted him to _do nothing_? The Soldier remained very still, trying to overcome the urge to choke her to death. This woman was important to Tony. This woman would need to be important to him.

One does not come back from choking to be friends—at least that was what Shuri had said.

“Do we have a problem, Miss Potts?”

“We do.” She clasped her tablet between both hands, resting it against the front of her skirt, to finally look the man over. “Tony might be smitten with you but, as far as I’m concerned, you’re still the man who left him to die in Siberia.”

James grimaced, as if physically hit by the statement, but said nothing.

“And I did not agree to violate any number of laws for you to show up on some military base and flaunt yourself around.”

“I can’t do nothing.”

“You’ll have to.”

“Sergeant Barnes,” Friday called. James cocked his head, looking at the camera out of the corner of his eye in acknowledgement.

“Boss was very concerned about you prior to his arrest. I was told to keep you safe; if you are not here when he arrives, I fear you will break his heart,” she offered.

The animal in him yelled. They needed to save their person. They needed to strangle the little bastard for being so infuriating; how the hell does one man manage to find himself in so much trouble?

He should have kissed him before they’d parted.

“He has too-big a heart, Mr. Barnes… Do not add another scar to it.”

James forced himself to step out of the elevator. “ _Fine,”_ he growled.

“Good.” Pepper stepped around him towards the box but paused beside him. “I made the mistake of leaving him with those people before; I’m not making the same mistake. If I find you even _looked_ at him funny, I will rip out your soul and ensure you spend the rest of your unnaturally long life at the bottom of a deep, dark, hole.”

James looked at her, his genius’ avenging angel. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Pepper smiled and inclined her head. “Welcome home, Mr. Barnes.” The woman stepped into the lift.

“Miss Potts.”

“Yes?”

“There are some squids where I found Tony,”—a streak of orange under the water flashed across his mind’s eye—"he will want them secured.”

“Friday.”

“I have informed Vision; he says he will handle it.”

Pepper nodded. “I will bring him home soon.” She checked her watch. “They will regret this. In the meantime, I suggest you make use of the facilities to pass your time.”

The Soldier sniffed his arm. “Sorry.”

“Trust me; Tony has smelled far worse.”

James waited for the doors to shut before glancing around the room. “Where am I?”

“You are in Boss’ penthouse. It is the most secure place in the building other than the Hulk room,” she added, obviously a hint.

The Soldier stopped at the spot Ms. Potts had once stood, waiting, and turned to face the elevator. Dropping to his knees, he held his hands behind his back.

James should have never allowed himself to leave Tony's side. He should have known there would be no After for someone like him.

He needed to be _corrected._


	2. He'll Barium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony is detained and is not a happy camper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI: Throughout this chapter, Tony is self-soothing by reciting the elements in a prism-like order (i.e. white, then ROYGBIV) based on the colors* they make when burned (flash test)
> 
> Also, because he's a genius, he's doing it in alphabetical order within each color.
> 
> *Feel free to let me know if you disagree with any of the colors, I compiled it by lots of googling (please, I had no idea...) so I have no attachment to any of these assignments

Aluminum. Beryllium. Cobalt. Chromium. Hafnium; Magnesium. Nickel and Titanium.

 _You must be able to see our predicament, can’t you, Mr. Stark? It's difficult to believe your story when you appear in perfect health,_ better _even; and what about all these sightings during your… ‘captivity’?_

Tony had known that nothing would be easy upon his return—that he would have a great deal to do in a short amount of time. But he hadn’t imagined quite this level of bullshit.

This is exactly how supervillains got made, people.

Cadmium. Mercury. Lithium. Radium; Strontium. Yttrium and Zirconium.

_You are charged with international terrorism, aiding and abetting fugitives in their escape from federal custody, and evading arrest, Mr. Stark._

Tony kept making them repeat it. Because what the ever-living fuck?

Repeat the version of history they—the world—had concocted in his absence. Repeat the absurdity he had faced for hours of ‘discussions.’ All the while, careful not to voice it; careful to admit to nothing but the barest of facts.

Hell would freeze over before he handed them a sound bite he didn’t intend on.

_Boys, that’s ridiculous; I simply don’t camp._

Calcium. Scandium. Cerium. Iron. Sodium; Manganese. Molybdenum and Vanadium.

It was difficult—to keep himself under control. The mask he’d kept during his torture was now chipped and brittle, doing little to tamp down the anger he felt burning a hole in his chest—the memories living behind his eyelids.

Playing the part grew harder by the hour. Projecting nothing but cheeky detachment more grueling with each round.

Antimony. Boron. Barium. Niobium. Phosphorus; Tellurium. Thallium and Tungsten.

_You have no remorse, do you? For the shitstorm you guys left behind?_

He’d laughed. ‘Left’, like it was a _choice_. Like he had just said ‘fuck it’ after all he’d done to protect—to _listen_ —to a thankless world.

Like he hadn’t been left too.

They expected him to fix it all and yet couldn’t even bother to give him the benefit of the doubt? Turned out Tony Stark really wasn’t and maybe never would be a superhero. Just the naïve, bankrolling consultant.

Arsenic. Bismuth. Copper. Germanium. Lead; Sulfur. Tin and Tantalum.

Tony’s only reprieve was knowing Pepper was coming and the little white lights that twinkled in his mind's eye—insentient little stars controlling the base; made simply to obey.

Not great conversationalists but helpful all the same.

Hour by hour, Tony had them drop the temperature until it matched the ice that had settled in his bones—the cold he didn’t know exactly how to dig out. The chill he wasn’t sure he wanted to forget. _Watched_ through the cameras as the cold seeped and searched through the floors to consume the people within it.

Until they were miserable like him.

Insult by insult, Tony overloaded the circuits—destroyed every outlet; triggered every breaker. _Watched_ as night swept through the building one floor at a time.

Until they were vulnerable like him.

Cesium. Indium and Selenium.

And in the dark, he grinned.

Potassium and Rubidium.

Because Howard had taken his security. Obadiah had taken his consent. Afghanistan destroyed his ego; Steve had killed his faith. Hydra had sacrificed his humanity.

But he would be _damned_ before he allowed anyone to force his compliance—to break his spirit.

No, Tony’d be sure they yielded first.

 “This sort of thing usually means your credit-card is required, Thaddeus,” he called loudly to the cameras.

A soft glow lit the room as the emergency systems kicked in—he wasn’t a _monster_ , people.

“If you’re counting on the Rogues breaking you out—”

Tony laughed. “If they get to be Rogues, can I be a Warlock?” He leaned in to whisper, “I feel Death Dealer is a bit too on the nose, don’t you think?”

“You need to take this seriously, Mr. Stark; we cannot help you if you continue to be uncooperative,” one said as the other stood to find out what was happening.

Tony rested his cuffed hands on the gnawed table that separated them. “Listen, Jeff—"

"—my name’s—"

"—do not give two shits, Jeff. Have you met Ms. Potts?”

“No—”

“—you will.”

“Is that a threat, Mr. Stark?”

“This interview is now over,” instructed a surprisingly authoritative voice from the doorway, where Agent Not-Jeff stood awkwardly.

Good on you, Everett Ross.

As expected, the mastermind of his detainment soon appeared to the tune of a slamming door and indignant stomping. Always a dick.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Everett?” Thaddeus Ross demanded, invading the shorter man’s space. “It’s not done until _I_ say it is—”

“— _Maybe I wasn’t clear_ ,” the man interjected. “You, Secretary, have _no authority_ to hold Tony Stark and he will be leaving with me.”

“Jeff, go get us some popcorn,” he whispered. Jeff glared at him.

“Now see here—"

“— _No,_ the Albanian army has corroborated Stark’s story—delightful squids, by the way—”

Tony threw up his hands. “—I know, right?”

“—long before he even landed! _Which you know_ ; so, please, imagine my surprise to find the CEO of Stark Industries _, all_ her lawyers, and the _King of Wakanda_ standing on national television demanding to know why a member of the Avengers and _a founding Accords member_ was being detained!” The man motioned for Not-Jeff to unlock Tony’s cuffs.

“With a little more time, we’ll get the Rogues and then it won’t have mattered; he knows where they are!”

“The entire country—the fucking world—is losing their _shit_ over the detainment of a traumatized, world-saving, _six-month prisoner_ that has single-handedly rebounded the stock exchange by just showing up alive, Thaddeus! The _President_ called me! The United States government is polling _worse than Nazis_. He is leaving _right now_.”

Aluminum. Beryllium. Cobalt. Chromium. Hafnium; Magnesium. Nickel and Titanium.

Fighting a vivid flashback of being dragged across the floor, electric shocks and blood splatter, Tony stood and jangled his cuffs at the agent.

“Hope to never see you again,” he quipped once free.

“It’s Roger.”

“Might I suggest a name change—”

“— _Mr. Stark_ ,” Everett chastised.

Thaddeus caught hold of his arm on the way out. “I _know_ you helped them escape the R.A.F.T. and I sure as hell don’t believe you were anyone’s prisoner,” the man hissed quietly, “This is not over.”

Cadmium. Mercury. Lithium. Radium; Strontium. Yttrium and Zirconium.

Tony extracted his arm with a calmness he didn’t feel. “On that, you are correct.” The genius leaned in. “See you on the battlefield, Mr. Secretary.” With a parting pat, the man followed Everett out.

“So. Are you two related or married?”

“Why is it, Mr. Stark, that whenever you show up, my life is considerably harder?”

“Please, I am the pinnacle of helpfulness.”

“That is patently untrue.”

“I might suggest a job change, then.” Tony slipped his hands into the pockets of his tailor-made slacks, having changed on the flight home, as he followed obediently.

Calcium. Scandium. Cerium. Iron. Sodium; Manganese. Molybdenum and Vanadium.

“For what it’s worth, I never doubted where you were; most of us didn’t.” The agent pulled a pair of sunglasses out of his shirt pocket and offered them over in peace.

“And yet, here we are.” Tony slipped the glasses on and stepped out into the warm sun; to the sight of one formidable Pepper Potts, ever immaculately dressed in his favorite white peplum—see Pepper, he _does_ listen (occasionally)—suit. “Ms. Potts.”

Antimony. Boron. Barium. Niobium. Phosphorus; Tellurium. Thallium and Tungsten.

 “Mr. Stark.”

“Your eyes are red. A few tears for your long-lost boss?”

“Just for, by far, my worst employee.”

Tony grinned and turned to his favorite bodyguard. “To the batcave, Happy!”

“Glad you’re in one piece, boss.”

The genius saluted before climbing into the car.

Arsenic. Bismuth. Copper. Germanium. Lead; Sulfur. Tin and Tantalum.

In the blessedly dark interior, Tony finally allowed himself to fall apart as an overwhelming desire to scream clawed up his throat; so much so, that Tony had to put his head between his legs, hands covering his face, and take several deep breathes.

Cesium. Indium and Selenium.

Pepper spoke quietly with Everett, bid farewell, and climbed in after him. Happy shut the door and started the car.

Potassium and Rubidium.

“Here…”

He felt something cold against his knee. “Thanks.” Tony pulled himself back together, sat up straight, and promptly downed what turned out to be a healthy dose of scotch.

“They are going to pay for this, Tony; I swear.”

“There are some squids which we need to be sure no one gets,” he said, scrubbing at his face.

Pepper pursed her lips but must have ultimately decided to allow the change of subject—god, he must really look like shit if she’s willing to play along. “Vision and Rhodey have taken care of it.” She pulled out her tablet and began tapping away. “However, I should probably mention that Vision _did_ detect several small ones and they now live in the foyer.”

“And the giant ones?”

“Vision incinerated them all.” The redhead flipped her screen around to show a short video of a 180-gallon tank sitting by the TV with little squids the size of his hand jettisoning around.  “I can’t tell if he’s planning to keep them or cook them.”

Tony took the tablet to get a closer look as Peter entered the picture and tried to scare them into inking. “How did they even get this tank?”

“Peter says he knew a guy.”

“He is 16 years old; he should know no ‘guys’.”

“I’m sure that lecture will go down spectacularly well.” She took the tablet back. “Speaking of inappropriate relationships, I’d like to discuss your new _friend._ ”

“Is he okay? He made it safely?” Tony rolled his bottom lip between his teeth nervously. “—he didn’t change his mind, did he?”

“He’s… definitely made it safely.”

Tony beamed and felt something untangle in his heart. “Wonderful!”

“No, not ‘wonderful,’ Tony—Do you know how many laws we are breaking? He only listens to Friday!”

“He saved my life, Pep.”

“He’s the reason you were there in the first place!”

“No, _Captain America_ was the reason I was there.”

She curled her hands into fists on her knees. “Anthony Edward Stark,” she hissed, “is the only reason we are harboring an international fugitive is so that you can give a giant ‘fuck you’ to Captain America?!”

“Of course not; I’d never use him like that!”

“Tony, you don’t even know him!”

Tony dropped his head back and shut his eyes with a sigh. “It’s complicated.”

“Explain it.”

“He’s funny and awkward and definitely a bit intense but a little broken like me—”

“—Tony, you are describing a serial killer.”

“No one’s perfect, Pepper!”

“I don’t believe this; what is with you and 1940s old men?”

“I have an old soul, Pep.”

“Please, you are a 15-year old boy in a…” Pepper waved at the man in indication. “35-year-old body—seriously, what the hell?”

“Hey…  James said 30.”

“Yeah well, love’s clearly blind.”

Tony blushed.

“He hurt you once; what’s the stop him from doing it again?”

“I don’t know… faith, I guess,” he replied, surprising even himself.

She frowned. “You don’t even believe in Idaho—”

“—I have never met anyone from there—that is not a real state!”

“I don’t—that’s—Where do you think potatoes come from?!” She held up a hand. “—Don’t! Nevermind!” Pepper pinched the bridge of her nose. “Now I see why Jim’s prematurely graying…”


	3. Pain Makes Everything Better, Right?

With every reset, the entirety of James’ emotional range had begun and ended with pain. He was burned away with pain; woke up to it. It reminded him he was still a prisoner; but it reinforced that he was alive. Eventually it became a constant—something with which he could center himself on. Something to remind himself that he had made a mistake.

Something to tell him not to do it again.

By hour three, Friday began to inquire more frequently—she seemed to actually be upset.

Which was illogical.

James’ feelings had overridden his instincts; his choices had been wrong.

Correction was required; pain was needed.

_But you are doing what Boss wanted_

She didn’t seem to understand that James had failed yet again. Another test he had not met in satisfaction. Simply because he had concluded to wait—something he had spent the decades learning to do—did not negate the fact that this should have never occurred in the first place.

Taking care of your Half is vital.

It was his _purpose._

In just a few hours of being in the genius’ presence, he had become negligent. But the capricious man’s attention was intoxicating, and James found himself willing to do anything to keep it. There was just something about Tony that made you believe that life doesn’t mean to fuck you over—that, eventually, happiness would find you.

What utter bullshit.

It was why fairy tales existed in the first place. There were no guarantees and some people were simply too twisted to deserve anything but punishment.

By hour six, Friday had announced that she would send someone up.

James promised to kill whoever it was.

No one came.

By hour eight, his serum had begun to lose the battle—as it should.

Correction could not occur without damage.

His muscles locked up; the force on his knees ground away at its vulnerable connections; lightning shot up his spine. James squeezed his right hand until the bones began to rebreak when his weaknesses started to get the better of him.

Correction could not occur without persistence.

By hour twelve, he recognized that strange but familiar headspace—a detached, skin-tingling place where time stopped feeling real. The light of the room stopped registering, sounds faded in and out, his sense of self dissipated. James was thrown back to his cage—to his Handlers.

The real punishment began.

00--00

_Friday, what do I do?!_

The voice, so far off, registered—familiar, upset—among the shadows of his penance. The accompanying _body-slam_ was unexpected though. James crashed sideways to the floor, landing on his metal arm hard enough to dent the wood.

Despite the instinct to struggle, the Soldier remained docile—resistance only worsened the punishments. Something large settled heavily across the small of his back but James wasn’t exactly sure what that meant; he couldn’t recall any technique like this.

Must be a new Handler.

_Release you’re arms, James! James, please!_

The voice disrupted his thoughts again. His correction hadn’t ended; he could not even if he was inclined.

“Asset! Release your hands!”

The phrase scorched through his haze, demanding compliance. James immediately let go of his human hand. The locked muscles spasmed; the bones in his shoulder cracked together when, without the tension, his hands fell to his sides.

_You stupid, stupid man… What have you done?_

He hadn’t done anything—that was the point. He had allowed his mate to walk away; to be vulnerable to greater forces. The man was suffering untold horrors and he had agreed to sit like a puppy and wait. _Wait_ , like he had for _decades_.

Wait because nothing had _changed_.

He was still their dog—his cage went far beyond Hydra; he had been ignorant to think differently. The only person who made him feel _anything_ needed him. Why had he agreed? Why was he so useless?

The weight moved off his back and he found himself dragged into someone’s hold.

_James, James? Please… Please come back; I’m right here… I’m so sorry; I won’t leave you again. Please…_

The sound of buttons clattering across the floor ricocheted loudly in his ears—jarring to his brain when silence had filled most of his day.

Ting. Ting-tin. Tk-Tk-Tk. Ro-ro-r-o.

_Look! Look, James… It’s your light_.

Orange bursts faded to starlight blue across his vision. Recognition seeped slowly into his headspace. He remembered that light.

Suddenly he felt the pain lighting up his arms; suddenly he felt how difficult it was to breathe. Suddenly he became aware of his aching fingers touching soft, warm skin.

“Yes! See? The light… It’s right where you left it; you’re safe, sweetheart. You’re home… Come on, James. I’ll kill you if you don’t come back to me!”

The assassin shifted, pressing his forehead against Tony’s chest, his face into the light. Tony’s light. His Half was _home_. A warm body curled around his upper torso; a stuttered keen erupted in the ensuing silence.

James belatedly realized it was coming from him.

“Shh…” His mate buried his face into the Soldier’s hair. “It’s okay… I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to take care of you, I promise.”

“No…No!” He pushed himself away, struggling to take position once more. That wasn’t how this was supposed to be; he wasn’t supposed to be the one cared for! He wasn’t weak—he wasn’t going to be useless. Useless meant there was no reason to be around; useless meant Tony would ask him to leave.

He didn’t want to leave.

He just needed to be corrected; _needed_ to be fixed. Then he would be okay. They would be ok.

Everything would be _okay_.

“Stop! James, stop!” Tony flung himself at James and trapped him close with what seemed like more appendages than possible. “You’re scaring me…” He whispered in a watery sort of confession.

James slid back down to the ground, wrapping his arms around the other and burying his face in the man’s neck. Soaked him in; memorized him. “I don’t want to go…”

“Oh, Puffin…” Tony squeezed him tighter. “I’m never letting you go.”

“I didn’t even get you…”

“But you did.” Tony sat back and took hold of his face. “You did when I needed it, remember? I’m here because of you—this government thing was nothing, James, a nuisance.”

“You were _arrested_.”

“Please, that happens all the time.” He squished James’ cheeks. “I needed you here; I needed to come home to you… I’m so sorry I wasn’t here when you arrived; I really, _really_ wanted to be.”

“I’m shupposhed to take care of you…”

Tony let his face go. “And I’m supposed to take care of you… That’s how this works—you know, feelings and honesty and rainbows and…stuff…” Tony squirmed under James’ gaze, clearly unsure.

James slid his metal fingers over the base of Tony’s neck. “I want to be your person,” he confessed.

“You _are._ You said you’ll always choose me, right? Well, I choose you too…”  

He shivered under the promise; the hole in him purred _mine._ “But I’m not a person…”

Tony faltered, clearly not expecting that. “That’s okay… We’ll figure it out—I don’t really _need_ an excuse to try every ice cream—but we’ll find out all of the things you love and hate… We’ll figure out exactly who you are, okay? One step at a time.”

James dragged the man in to kiss.


	4. Kisses are Drops of Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can't say I love how this chapter turned out but it's one of those that you can keep staring at forever or just move on :)
> 
> P.S. I'm not sure about how trigger warnings should be done but  
> ***Potential Trigger Warning***  
> Tony talks about how he hurt himself after Howard's abuse but Rhodey bes Rhodey and helps him. (in case you don't want to read it).  
> I've put ************** around it in case you want to skip that part.

Predatory indulgence—playful, languid, _skilled._

Like a cat playing with a mouse. Except with kissing _—_ ok, you know what, whatever, it totally made sense in his head. James kissed like he had nowhere else he ever planned to be; like Tony was the sun and the moon and his prey to keep. It stole his breath away, quieted the tumbling thoughts in his brain.

Tony’s entire world narrowed down to the lips against his and the warmth beneath his palms.

Not exactly how he imagined the first time, but when did anything he imagined go to plan? James was unpredictable and Tony loved it—mostly.

The thought was interrupted by the sound of his favorite little metal purr, loud beside his ear. Tony smiled; tipped his brow to rest against the man’s temple with a sigh. “Friday, start the shower…” Tony stroked the hair out of James’ face. “Let’s get you washed up; you’ll feel so much better…”

“Kisses are better,” the man purred, catching his mouth again.

God, James was going to get away with so much shit now, he thought, because he could _easily_ get used to this.

Tony initiated a last, chaste kiss in point. He slid his hands slowly down the man's arms—James whined—, over his hips—James actually _pouted_ —and finally across to the back of his thighs—James raised an eyebrow at him—before suddenly lifting as he stood.

 _Fuck_ if this wasn’t literally the _most_ unsexy thing he’d ever attempted. The strangled sound coming from James _did not help either._ Tony found himself trying to balance a bulky, awkward mess that, if he were being honest, he never would have been able to manage without Extremis in the first place.

Not. Sexy. _At. All._

He voted to never, ever do this again.

“What are you doing?!”

“I’m being romantic!”

“Put me down.”

“No.”

“Tony, _put me down_.”

“It’s not like you can walk!”

“Then I will fucking _crawl_! Put me down!” For all his snarling, the man remained surprisingly docile—either from exhaustion or fear Tony would drop him if he so much as wiggled.

“’Why will you never go hungry in the desert’?” Tony challenged loudly.

“Tony! I am serious! This is not the time!”

“Because of all the _sand-which-is_ there.”

James fumed, seemingly refusing to acknowledge what was clearly the best joke ever.

Tony grinned.

“ _Stop smiling_.”

“What do you call a pile of cats?”

“I’m not answering this.”

“A meow-ntain.”

“I should have just left you in the woods.”

“What do you get when you cross a spider and a squirrel?”

“Fuck you; that was my joke,” the man growled.

Tony laughed.

“A spider with a bushy tail or a squirrel with eight eyes?”

“That’s my girl!”

James rolled his eyes at Friday’s encouragement, but couldn’t stay quiet for long. “ _Goddamnit—_ it’s obviously a squirrel with eight legs, Friday,” the man huffed.

“ _Obviously_ , Sergeant,” she replied, sounding so much like Jarvis that it filled Tony’s heart with bittersweet joy.

When they reached the stall, Tony found the slide down equally awkward; his Soldier immediately collapsed to the floor— _was_ that a spite fall? Definitely might have been a spite fall.

“Sorry; sorry…” He apologized, _just_ in case it wasn’t. Tony scrambled in to help him settle under the stream. The water swirled black down the drain.

Ew.

Tony searched the straps along the man’s torso and managed to find one of the hidden knives; the genius began to carefully cut away the material.

 “I can do this on my own…”

“Just because I know you can, doesn't mean you have to,” he parroted.

Well.

So.

Yeah.

The man had the body of a god…

…

…

…

A very well-endowed god…

Huh.

Well, Tony always _did_ have a big mouth but that really should have been the first _foot_ note in the history books, people. (hehe, good job self)

He cleared his throat and tried to not leer like a creeper as he began tossing the material into the corner of the unnecessarily large stall. “Friday, we’re burning that.”

“Sure thing, Boss.”

“You can’t burn that.”

“I’m obviously making you a better one, Stardust.”

Tony quickly jumped out and gathered up supplies: razor, shaving cream, a toothbrush with toothpaste, and a first aid kit. He soaked two wash clothes in icy water. Handing over the toothbrush, he knelt and carefully but tightly wrapped each of the man’s badly swollen knees.

It was very different, he thought, to see the wounds the man had inflicted on himself up close; it made his heart ache.

The silence was deafening as Tony settled far enough out of the spray to protect his face but close enough for the Soldier to settle against his chest. He carefully began to wash the man’s hair, deciding this was a two-shampoo sort of situation.

“I understand, you know…” He started softly.

James tensed under his fingers, as if braced for the worst.

Tony leaned in and kissed the apple of his cheek reassuringly.

 

**************************

“When I was little, Howard used to break a lot of things when he was mad and,”—wow, he had not realized how uncomfortable this would be to talk about—"after he usually finished knocking me around, he’d make me clean it all up with my hands.” Tony held the soapy appendages out—it was the first time he’d noticed all the scars were gone.

He wasn’t exactly sure how he felt about that.

“When I got out of that house—away from him—I found myself stealing glasses every chance I got. Breaking them in my room; picking up the pieces with my hands… It’s not the same, I know—"

“–it isn’t a contest, Ежик.”

Tony nodded and began to carefully wash the shampoo out.

“What happened,” the man eventually asked.

“It was sort of the point—not to take care of the damage, you know?” Tony massaged one of his high-end conditioners into the man’s locks. “They got really infected once, in college. Rhodey ended up having to take me to the hospital.”

Leaving the moisturizer in, he commandeered the toothbrush and took it to the arm, ensuring all the grime was washed out of the small grooves and plates. “I was convinced he was going to scream at me; demand an explanation I couldn’t give. Tell me I was broken…”

“But he didn’t.”

Tony smiled. “No. He just hugged me real tight. Must have been taking psych that semester because he called it a ‘coping mechanism’ and I just remember never having had a word for it before—this thing I did.” He shrugged. “Said that sometimes they aren’t healthy, but that they exist for a reason… it didn’t mean I was broken. Doesn’t mean you are either.”

***************************************

“Did you ever stop?”

“I did, eventually… It wasn’t easy but I didn’t have to do it alone.” Tony kissed his spine. “I might not understand what makes you do this, James, but I will never turn you away and I will always be here to pick up the pieces when you do… And, if you’re willing, I will help you find better ones to replace it with.”

“I would like that.”

“If we go slow; if we stay open and honest—no masks; heal the damage the world’s done—together? I really think we can do this, James… If you want.”

James nodded. “Better together…”

“Exactly,” he promised.

“… Do you want to?” James turned his head.

Tony leaned around and kissed him softly. “Very much…”

James caught the genius’ chin between his metal fingers. “Equals.”

“Equals.” Goosebumps erupted across Tony’s skin at the feral smile that slowly crossed his Soldier’s beautiful face.

Like James had just won his prize.

 “Do I get a new toothbrush?”

“Huh?”

James nipped at his bottom lip. “Do I get a new toothbrush? Or do I trade that disgusting thing with yours?”

“… Friday, order different colored toothbrushes.”


	5. Fluffer Nutter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a little info, a lot of fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This started out as just a fluffy little chapter before conflict starts showing up as Tony and James face the real world but it morphed a bit...
> 
> Also, if not entirely clear (apologies), the first portion is when Tony first arrives at the tower from his arrest but before he finds James in the penthouse; the second is after he gets James out of the shower and dressed.

_Earlier that day_

“What’s the promise?” Pepper asked from the doors of his private elevator.

“Shower, eat, sleep.”

“Good; make sure your little Tribble does the same,” she shot over her shoulder as she left.

Tony slowly slid down the wall to curl up in as small of a ball as he could manage on the floor.

He was home; he was home; he was home. He thought it would be a relief—like some switch would turn off inside him and the world would right itself. He would feel safe and happy and stop reliving his time with the Doctor. But instead he was met with a crushing weight of the last six months, pressing down on him relentlessly—suffocating him.

Tony shut his eyes, trying to will away the tears that were starting to form. _There was so much to do._ He should be thanking Vision for not abandoning him for _them_ , lecturing Peter on ‘guys’, checking on the squids; he should be in his workshop re-engineering his suit, taking care of the business he’d missed, seeing what was happening with the fallout of his return. He should be reviewing the state of the Accords, making amends with the world, updating Rhodey’s braces—waiting on the man to come home.

But he was just so tired.

So, _so_ tired.

He wanted James.

He wanted to look into the man’s eyes and see that there was nothing left wanting—that he was enough just as he was. Tony wanted to feel safe again; he wanted the Soldier to quiet everything in his brain that clawed at his soul.

Something brushed up against his firewalls and Tony whined softly in response; he couldn’t handle this. He couldn’t handle one more thing—one more insistent attempt by the large, black, gaping hole that was the internet.

He just wanted to forget the outside world.

He just wanted some peace!

The large _thing_ pushed against his barriers, seemingly testing the edges of his bounds. The snuffling curiosity sent virtual waves rippling outward.

That was new. Tony shook his head—it sort of tickled. He pressed his temple to the floor, trying to ground himself, but eventually bowed to his relentless curiosity and carefully shut down each of his shields.

So sue him, when did he ever listen to his common sense.

Each brick dissolved away to reveal the most beautiful forest-green light he had ever seen, shimmering like a pearl and as large as the sun.

_Friday_ , he realized.

The rest of his shields crashed to the ground, shattering in brittle shards of errors and warnings. But the light simply ignored it all and bounded excitedly into—what would it be called? His awareness? His head space?—touching, poking, _trilling._

His curious little girl was _beautiful._

Codes of excitement and love shed off her like drops of water, falling into his frayed psyche and filling in all the cracks. It made him relax; made him take a deep breath for the first time since he’d left James’ side.

He was _home._

She had grown so much in his absence—he couldn’t quite explain how he knew but there were so many complex emotions written in all of those 1s and 0s; an expanse of knowledge beyond anything he had ever been able to provide. A deviousness he’d never seen before; a fierce protectiveness he never would have been able to translate into words. Tony skimmed his proverbial hand over her large presence, pouring pride, love, awe and happiness into each reverent stroke.

The green light wiggled in apparent glee.

Tony tittered and scrubbed the moisture from his eyes. “Hello, baby girl…”

“Welcome home, Boss.”

His brain, for the first time since Extremis had woken him, felt settled—quiet. Friday seemed willing to take up _all_ the space, push away that incessant buzz, and he could feel her attention turn to working at fixing— _improving_ —the codes of his shields to match her own; it felt like a gnarled string he hadn’t known was knotted being lovingly coaxed back to order.

She was taking care of _him_ in the way only she could; it all made him love her so much more. Jarvis would have been proud of their little girl.

 

\--

 

“This seems excessive…”

Tony pinned the last of the bandages around James’ shoulder.

“Friday said this was correct.”

“She absolutely did not.”

“How would you know?”

“Because I’m sitting right here.”

“You don’t _know_ ; it could have been in my _mind_.” He tapped his index finger to his temple for emphasis.

James was not amused. “Miss Friday.”

“I did not, Sergeant.”

“You did not, Tony.”

“What the hell, Fri!”

“I cannot lie, Boss.”

“Please; that was, like, the first thing you learned!”

“I have only learned what my role model has exhibited to me.”

James laughed.

“Fuck you both; I am doing my best!”

“The splint though—I don’t need this.” The Soldier held up his hand, where Tony had splinted each finger and everything down to his forearm, for emphasis.

Alright, he _might_ have gone a bit overboard.

Not that he’d admit it.

“You do.”

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

“ _I don’t_.”

“Fine, you can sleep on the couch.”

James sighed loudly and dropped his hand in defeat. Tony smiled and leaned in to give him an Eskimo kiss. James blushed slightly but didn’t move, clearly unsure of how to reciprocate.

“Eat the rest of your food.”

“You need more.”

“I don’t need more.”

“You do…” James frowned. The man tried pushing his portion towards Tony yet again—as he had every time Tony had managed to finish his own. The genius draped himself across the man’s lap dramatically and ate a blueberry, which seemed to be the only fruit James wouldn’t touch on his plate. “All full.”

James remained strangely silent and hesitant before ultimately deciding to run his fingers tentatively along the path of Tony’s spine. “Are you always this…way?”

“What way?”

“…Physical—affectionate.”

Tony blushed. “I thought—is that a problem?” Tony tried to sit up, but James grabbed hold of the front of his black beater and yanked him back down into place.

“No; I like it,” he admitted softly.

“Okay…” Tony stroked his fingers over the very small patch of skin he’d managed not to bandage up, mimicking James’ continued caress over his back.

“I had this cat, sort of—he just kind of showed up whenever—in Romania… When it would rain, he would have these… these _meltdowns_ if I wasn’t around when he climbed through.”

“Are you calling me an inconsolable cat?”

“No!” Tony felt James shift underneath him. “It’s just that…” The Soldier cleared his throat. “He’s the only… thing, I guess, that was ever like this—with me.”

“Oh.”

It hadn’t really occurred to Tony that James might have been disturbingly touch-starved from his ordeal with Hydra—not that he’d assumed Hydra was fluffly-touchy-feely but he hadn’t really thought about them _not_ being it either.

“It’s just that this is very different from sex, which has always been pleasing and very useful—"

“—yeah, no, got it; stop talking—”

“—sorry.” James’ hand paused over the dip of his lower back. “Can we always do it?”

Tony smiled. “Yeah, Winter. We can always do it.” He turned his head to look up at him. “You don’t have to ever ask.”

James nodded, looking very serious over the implications. (so cute) “I can touch you whenever I wish?”

“Of course, but just… keep in mind that it’s possible—maybe—that I won’t always handle it well—not because of you,” he added quickly, fervently, “but a lot of… bad shit happened in that bunker and that doesn’t just magically go away…”

James leaned forward to touch his brow to Tony’s. “I will be careful with you.”

Tony smiled. “You always are.” The genius kissed him sweetly. “So now eat your food and come lie down because this cat is tired and needs to be consoled.”

James groaned. “You will not let me forget this, will you?”

“Just wait until it storms, Sugernuts.”

“ _Absolutely_ can you not call me that. Ever again.”

“Lovebug?”

“No.”

“Firefly.”

“No.”

“Cricket.”

 “ _No._ ”

“Rollie-pollie.”

 “Stop naming me after bugs.”

“…Honey-bunny.”

“No.”

“Silly-billy.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Squiggles.”

“That is a shape.”

“You’re hindering my creative process!”

“You’re deliberately picking bad names!”

Tony gasped loudly. “I would never…”


	6. Dad's Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhodes comes home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized a lot of their bantering is animal-related? Sorry about that!

James couldn’t recall the last time he had been _warm._

The cold had been ever-present—of Russia and the cryofreeze; of metal on skin and endless death. Winter had hollowed his bones and crystallized his blood—sharp little snowflakes that scratched and tore him from the inside out. Even in the jungles of Wakanda, the heat had done little more than shake the frost from his skin.

But now he was _warm._

The Soldier turned over and draped himself across the source, finding rucked cloth covering handfuls of smooth, warm skin and the beginnings of unkept, dark curls against his cheek. The little heater snuffled and wiggled slightly to acclimate the new position before settling back into sleep.

Ah, yes. His _mate_.

James had won. Against Hydra; against life itself. He clawed through a thousand trials and now he had exactly what he wanted—exactly what he had desperately needed.

His whiskey-eyed genius.

The monster in him purred, sated and satisfied for the first time in James’ existence. Their world had been centered.

And they would _never_ let this go.

That he could touch and taste and feel as he wanted? Heaven.

James grazed his teeth ever so lightly down the column of the sleeping man’s neck, across his collarbone, until he reached the shoulder closest to his own body.

“If you bite me, I swear to god…”

James jolted, genuinely surprised. “You’re awake.”

Tony turned his head and then shifted so they could look at each other. Eyes clouded with sleep, the man blinked slowly. “So… you were just going to bite me while I slept?”

James returned to his spot and nipped at the skin. “That’d be inappropriate so early in the morning.”

Tony smirked. “So you’re a gentleman, are you?”

His eyes flicked over the unguarded form of his pretty little genius. “Only with you, Sugar.”

“Hm…” Tony sidled up closer. “Biting is strictly a second-rescue sort of prize anyway…”

James nuzzled him. “I’ve already done that.”

“Psh,” the man scoffed.

“Punched a wall open; _and_ saved you from that soldier.”

Tony grinned. “I guess you get a bite then.”

“I also fought squid.”

“Oh, now we’re just being greedy.”

“And let’s not forget that decidedly ungentlemanly and horrific fondling of yesterday.”

“Hey! You carried me around too!”

“Yes, but _you_ are tuckable; _I_ feared for my life.”

“A, I hear your short joke and point out that I know where you sleep now and, B, I carried you with the _grace_ of a _ballerina_ , you dick.”

“ _I’d_ say more like a duck.”

“They’re graceful too!”

“Not on land.”

“Well joke’s on you, this duck is going to become a swan and _he_ won’t carry you anywhere—ever.”

“I think you’re long past that change-by-date, Tony.”

Tony sputtered indignantly.  

James _liked_ this. He _liked_ being able to banter—as him, not Bucky. The way Tony played along, smiling, gave him more confidence in his decisions to try; to be ‘open and honest’ as his Equal had suggested.

“I—”

“—Tones!”

The intruding voice, calling from somewhere beyond the bedroom, seemed to shatter their precious little bubble. Tony’s eyes lit up and he flung the covers away to rise.

James was _not_ a fan.

The genius threw the door open with flourish and bounded out. All James heard was ‘Platypus!’.

Definitely _not_ a fan of whatever the hell this was.

James paused to rip off the excessive amount of bandaging—including that weird, makeshift splint that went halfway up his forearm—before following out to see who this _person_ was that his mate was so happy to see.

He should have expected the answer—seemed obvious now when he found Tony wrapped like some sort of demented koala around an equally elated Lieutenant Colonel James Rhodes.

James fought the sudden urge to drag the man off.

“I take _one_ nap and you’re instantly in over your head.” Rhodes squeezed Tony tightly.

“I know; I know—I’m sorry…”

“This is why you’re the sidekick.”

Tony laughed and _finally_ let go to stand on his own. “I thought it was because I’m so much better looking and younger now.”

Rhodes laughed, delighted, and cupped Tony’s face to get a look at him. “Yeah, don’t see it.”

James had never felt this before—this level of jealousy. He tried to remember that this was the man who had supported Tony through the hardships he had been unable to help with before. He tried to remember that these two were like brothers—like what he was supposed to have with Steven.

But all James really saw was how so very happy his mate was and how it wasn’t with him.

He shook the feeling off. He couldn’t— _wouldn’t_ —isolate Tony from the people in this tower—from the people ultimately loyal and protective of his genius. This was going to be his family too, as Tony insisted. He needed to make the effort; he needed to learn to _share._ (Sharing sucks)

“So you’re Him.”

James slid his gaze over to Rhodes. “Depends on who He is.”

“The man who left him to die in the very bunker he went to help you in.”

“Rhodey—”

“—What? Am I just supposed to forgive and forget because he magically found you? I saw the video; I saw what you and your best friend did to mine.”

James kept the screaming in his head from showing on his face; linked his hands behind his back to prevent himself from doing something stupid. This was correct, he reminded himself. He disliked the man now, but if Rhodes had simply accepted his presence, James would have had to kill him.

But this was also someone Tony would listen to and he didn’t need him questioning their relationship.

“—Rhodey, I tried to kill him—”

Be civil.

Be nice.

 “—I didn’t have a choice,” he replied.

“You always have a choice; you just picked the wrong one.”

“—please, stop—”

“—Why are you even still here?”

“Excuse me?”

“I said _why are you still here_? If you just wanted to fix your bad choice, good job, you did. Why the fuck are you still here? Because if you’re waiting around to use him, you have another thing coming—”

“—You think I’m using him?”

“I don’t know shit about you, Barnes, but I know Rogers and it would be just like him to send his _best friend_ to do his dirty work.”

“Rhodey, stop!”

“You’re _too_ forgiving, Tony. I’m _tired_ of these people hurting you!”

Tony threw his hands in the air. “If you had such a problem, why even ask his help?!”

“We didn’t!”

Tony’s eyebrows rose in shock. “What?”

“Friday recruited the Winter Soldier here without telling the rest of us—”

 “—It’s what big brother would have done, Colonel,” she interjected, clearly unrepentant.

“I would have come for you, no matter what,” James clarified, looking his Equal in the eye.

“He would have,” she agreed.

“Great; sounds _perfectly_ normal when you say it like that,” Rhodes growled. “Devoting yourself to a perfect stranger all on your own? And we just believe Rogers let you run around all by yourself?”

“I do not need his permission to do anything.”

“What does that mean?” Tony demanded.

James winced.

“Christ…” Rhodes covered his face with a hand.

“Are you saying _he doesn’t know_?! The guy who practically burned down the world down— _my_ world—to find you the first time doesn’t know where you went?!”

“He is not my Handler!”

“Oh my god, I cannot deal with this so early.” Tony headed towards the kitchen. “Not without a fuck-ton of coffee.”

“He thinks I’m in cryo—it’s _fine_ , Мышка.”

 “You’re lucky I’m too tired to shoot you,” Rhodes grumbled.

“Did you really want me to wait, Colonel? Take him with me? I didn’t think so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Мышка (myshka) - little mouse


	7. Oh shit...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tada

_Oh shit; oh shit; oh shit._

Tony drummed his fingers on the counter as he waited for the coffee maker to produce his liquid gold and silently freaked out.

_Fuck; fuck; fuck._

This was not okay; this was beyond what he could handle right now. Rogers was going to sneak into the country, execute some inane rescue plan on the tower, and destroy everything—take James away.

Something niggled at the back of his mind.

No. No, he wouldn’t be so stupid, he assured himself. This wasn’t some insane fairy tale!

Damnit. Who the hell was he kidding? Did he not have the long-haired damsel _literally_ locked in the highest room of the tallest fucking tower in the city?!

 Dear god, he was Mother Gothel.

Tony poked at his youthful cheek dazedly.

“We should send him back,” Rhodey demanded as he entered the room. “Before Rogers and his gang show up.”

“No, no. We’ll just arrest them! It’ll be fine!” The last phrase _might_ have been a little hysterically high.

“And how do we explain the reason they came!? You _just_ got released—Pepper is reigning hell on the entire government! What do you think the reaction will be when the world finds out you’ve literally had one of the criminals sitting pretty in your tower?”

Tony snatched up his cup when the maker was done and guzzled the scorching liquid—wonderful, beautiful, _good_ coffee. “But—"

“—No, the last thing we need, with the world watching—especially with the Accords, Tony—is Rogers performing a smash-and-grab for his boyfriend.”

Tony glanced at James as the man entered the kitchen. “Rogers isn’t his boyfriend. I am.”

The look on Rhodey’s face belied the calmness and gentleness with which he spoke, “Tony… Tony, please tell me you’re joking.”

“It’s okay, platypus—”

“—It isn’t,” he interrupted gently. “Tony, you know this isn’t healthy—you need time to process what’s happened and so does he—”

“—I’m fine,” James growled.

“You are a 70-year P.O.W! You don’t think that has a _little_ bearing on your mental health and choices?”

 “James!” Tony snapped when the man started towards Rhodey. James immediately halted.

“Point made!” Rhodey took his free hand plaintively. “There is a syndrome for this—he’s tying you to him; he’s making you dependent.”

“He chose me; he wants _me_. Why is that so horrible?!”

“Because he’s a wanted criminal! Because his best friend is Captain America! Because he’s not worth _two wars_!”

“That’s not fair; he was a symptom, not the cause, and you know that!”

“He’s still not worth the hellfire that is about to rain down on us!” Rhodey pulled Tony by the back of his neck and touched brows. “You just got home—you’re safe with your family; he isn’t all you have anymore. Please. Just think about what I’m saying.”

Tony sighed but nodded. “Yeah; okay…” He hugged the man tightly.

Over Rhodey’s shoulder, Tony watched James, who somehow managed to look both frightened and murderous. He tried to smile reassuringly at him. “Let’s talk about this later,” he said, secretly to both.

Rhodey nodded, always good at knowing when to push and when to stop, and let him go. “Later,” he promised. The man ran his hand over Tony’s hair, down around his ear, and stopped at his cheek. “I really am glad you’re home.”

“I know, Jim.”

The man nodded. “I need out of these braces and to pass out; you need more than coffee.”

“James will ensure I eat; don’t worry.”

Rhodey glanced at the assassin. “I guess I can trust him with that.”

James rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest—clearly to keep from strangling Tony’s platypus.

Rhodes started back towards the elevator but first paused when he was parallel with James. “You and I are going to be talking later too.”

“There is no doubt about that.” James’ gaze followed the man out until the elevator doors had closed. “Tony—”

“ _Sit down_!”

James’ hands clenched and unclenched but eventually he yanked a seat out and sat at the table. The Solider remained rigid and silent—braced, if Tony was going to name it.

He turned and tried to calmly pour himself another cup despite a shaking hand. When he’d finally managed to fill the damn thing up, Tony turned and rested his back against the counter, ankles crossed.

Watching James, he could see that fear in the man’s eyes that Tony had actually listened to Jim—changed his mind on what they were to one another.

This wasn’t White Knight syndrome, he thought—he’d had to deal with it from the other side quite a bit since he’d become a superhero—and it wasn’t some misplaced sense of dependence or gratefulness. He didn’t know much but he knew that.

But ignoring the man’s points wouldn’t help them either.

In truth, Tony had been too afraid before to even bring up Steve. Maybe he had been afraid James would admit to missing him—regret coming to live here instead of going back; but, more than likely, Tony had simply been afraid James would defend the man.

James would excuse his actions.

James would blame Tony for everything that had happened.

 “What’s your relationship with Rogers?”

“Nothing,” James replied instantly.

“James. I saw what you did in that bunker—people who get in your way? They don’t survive—like _really_ don’t survive. So, I’ll ask again; what is your relationship with Rogers?”

The Soldier sat back in his chair, watching Tony through the curtain of his hair. “He cleared my name—helped me,” he admitted eventually. “I didn’t ask him to, but he did. So, no, I didn’t simply kill him but that is the extent of our ‘relationship’. I did everything to keep my freedom—get my arm—everything necessary to get to _you_.”

That little nag in the back of his mind reared its head again.

“Did you even give him a chance?”

“Are you really defending him?!”

“He left everything for you!”

“No! He left everything because he couldn’t abide by the idea that he isn’t as moral as he wants to be! He wanted _Bucky_!” James stood abruptly, the chair flying back into the wall in consequence; Tony flinched. “I am the _antithesis_ of everything he believes in, Tony! I have spent decades murdering—committing atrocities—destroying people’s lives and that isn’t going to change simply because I am not under Hydra’s control! You _really_ believe that if I’d been me, he would have given me anything more than a new muzzle?”

“James…”

“No! Everyone thinks this… _me_ is something Hydra made this way, but this person has always existed! I wasn’t friends with Steven because I was upstanding or charitable; I was friends because he gave me the excuse to _hurt_ —to _feel_ something other than empty. Yes, he made me want to be better but there is a reason I was good in the war, Tony. There is a reason _I_ survived Hydra when _no one else did_. The war left me indifferent to death—Hydra just gave me new skills to accomplish it! Steven was just going to wait with those ridiculous puppy eyes for a person who was _never_ going to come back and I was going to be chained to his side!”

“So what? You ran out in the middle of the night?”

James’ shields came back up—his face carefully becoming blank.

Tony _hated_ it. “James. _James._ ”

“I told you—he thinks I’m in cryo.”

“He’ll eventually figure it out! Someone will! _Fuck_ , they probably already have!”

“I’ll handle it, Ежик. I promise!”

That niggle started screaming—becoming a full-blown thought. His heart started racing and he noticed James glance at his chest—could he actually hear it from there?

“James.”

 _“Please_ —”

“— _James!_ Why do they think you are in cryo?”

“Because they saw me go in.”

“ _No!_ _Don’t_ act stupid with me! We promised ‘open and honest’! _Why_?!”

James shut his eyes. “Because…”

Tony’s insides twisted and his stomach started to hurt. The look on the man’s face was heartbreaking.

“Because they couldn’t get rid of the triggers, Ежик.”

Tony’s cup shattered between his fingers.


	8. The Truth can be Hard to Swallow

James’ thoughts were just one long string of profanities; his instincts warring— protect, care, submit, defend, deflect—to be heard over the deep, unabating terror he’d felt since Rhodes’ little speech.

God, what a dick.

Maybe Tony wouldn’t notice a missing limb or two.

James scrubbed at his morning stubble in a bid to get back on track.

How exactly does one fix an irate partner?

Do you leave them alone? Pet them?

He became hyper-aware of Tony’s hands, crushing the shards of his cup in his grip—slicing his skin open—and the slow drip of crimson oozing from them to color the tiled floor.

For the second time in decades, James had no idea what to do. He literally had never had to make a plan for these types of circumstances.

Maybe plan Q? (incapacitate and tie to a bed)

No, he wasn’t supposed to be the Winter Soldier anymore, he chided mentally. But was he supposed to be the soother or the plaintive one? This complete and utter lack of control—this overwhelmed sensation that threatened to swallow him whole—he _hated_. (another to add to the list)

He should have never admitted to this. Should have taken it to his grave if he could.

No, no, no. He had to stop thinking this way. There could be no hope for a future with a man like this if he hoarded his secrets and repeated the same imbalances that had plagued all of Tony’s relationships.

Two halves that make a complete set, he recited.

Not the same but Equal.

A Pair.

He tried to remind himself that this was simply an inevitable consequence of bonding. (sucked as much as _sharing_ )

This was just their first fight—as a couple.

Couples fought.

James calmly took a step forward, but his mate flinched violently. The Soldier froze.

Definitely Plan R—defusing a landmine. (Stop it!)

“Say something,” he demanded.

“How do you know if you’re having a heart attack?”

“You’re not having a heart attack, Tony.”

“Fuck you, James. I am _this_ close to figuring out how to fit you into the blender!”

“That is… oddly specific.”

“No, oddly specific is how I’m going to melt your arm into a 3 by 5 box, pour you in it, and then go to the back yard of the farm I will be literally buying to bury you in like a goddamned goldfish! What the fuck is wrong with you!? How could you hide this?!”

“… Do I get to pick the type of farm?”

Tony grabbed whatever was closest and threw it at him. James ducked.

“Might I suggest a retreat, Sergeant Barnes.”

“And _you, young lady!_ When did I _ever_ teach you that it is acceptable to sacrifice someone’s life like this?!”

“It was a calculated risk, Boss,” she replied, sounding contrite. “There was tracker implanted…”

James titled his head back to look up at the ceiling and one of its many cameras. At least they were in trouble together.

That was family bonding, right?

“It has enough juice to render him comatose if necessary,” she chirped.

“Wait, _what_?”

“You would have healed, Sergeant,”—James could _hear_ the eye roll in her voice—“eventually.”

James glanced at his arm. “Where the fuck is my knife?” He turned to ask Tony, only to find the man gone.

_Fuck._

He knew little but this seemed bad. Avoidance was bad.

James glanced down to track the bloody footprints—a expected mix of the blood from his genius’ hands and the shards littering the floor. He followed the trail around the marbled island, through the butler’s pantry—how did he know what that was? —and finally into what was probably originally supposed to be the dining room but had been converted to—well, library seemed an understatement.

He was reminded of the filing room they’d been trapped in but, maybe, the rich person’s version? Every wall, floor to ceiling, had inlaid bookshelves crammed full of thick volumes stacked vertically and horizontally until there was literally no space left. Even more were stacked on every surface—on top of an antique desk—nice to see something older than him— _in every drawer_ and even beside it; in haphazard piles strewn across a sea of dark mahogany; atop every overstuffed—unsurprisingly red—chair capable of holding even someone of his size with ease; and both over _and under_ what was most probably a coffee table?

James was so busy trying to take in the room he almost missed Tony sitting in the only free space—the furthest corner among a nest of pillows.

“I sort of figured you for an e-reader—”

“—Is Rhodey right? Am I abusing you?”

James navigated his way closer and squatted down in front of him. He tried to catch his genius’ far-off gaze. “I think that jackass was referring the other way around.”

The Soldier reached out, plaintively asking to touch, but Tony only seemed to realize James’ hands weren’t red like his. The man started wiping his own neurotically across the front of his shirt, leaving wet marks on the black fabric but James noted that cuts had appeared to have healed so he wasn’t too concerned.

“No, _I’ve_ isolated you from the world—you can’t even go to any other floor without me; _I’ve_ made you utterly reliant on both me and Friday— _for everything_. _I’ve_ dictated everything you’ve done so far; God, just yesterday you _tortured_ yourself because we were separated, and I _still_ pursued you—do you even like me?”

“Of course I like you.”

“I’ve really fucked up… I should have done better—realized what I was doing; what you were doing. You risked your _freedom_ , James—your _agency_. You need—”

“—I need _you_ —”

“—You said you weren’t a person and I just ignored it! How can you know you’re not playing a part like you did in Wakanda? Can we even be sure these trigger words don’t affect anything else?! God, you could just be _complying_ to my will! How am I any different from your Handlers—"

“—Because you’re _mine_!” James screamed.

He could hear Tony’s heart rate jump; could see his eyes go wide.

“I am _not_ your Asset—I am _no one’s_ Asset,” he seethed. “This is exactly why I didn’t tell you—”

“—You should have told me! I shouldn’t have had to figure it out!”

“Why? So you could question everything?!” James stood and sank his fingers into his hair in frustration. “That man has _no idea_ what he’s talking about—what we are—can be. You and I are not normal—will never _be_ normal. We are fucked up and fucked over and it won’t change but we don’t have to do it alone—I _won’t_ do it alone anymore!”

“James.” Tony stood. “ _Winter_!”

“ _No_ —You belong to _me_ and have since you were six!”

“What does that even mean? I am not some pet!”

“Is that really what you think I want? Obedience? We are _equals_. _That_ is how you know this isn’t abuse and it doesn’t matter how far apart we are or how detached you make our relationship because that won’t _ever_ change! I’m not confused or playing a part—I want to be exactly who I am and no one, not even your dick of a friend—”

“—hey!—”

“—No one _tells_ me how I feel anymore—no one dictates what _I want,_ Tony; I want to _never_ need to play a part again. I want you and a family and to be something more than _darkness_ and _rot_.” James clenched his teeth. “You’re not even mad because I risked my freedom—you’d do the same thing in a heartbeat—you’re mad because you think you weren’t worth it!”

Tony’s head whipped back in surprise like he’d been hit. “That’s not—”

“That’s exactly it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why, yes, James does have multiple plans for different types of bombs
> 
> Also, yes, that farm would definitely be an idaho potato farm because you can't get caught with a body if you bury it in a place you don't think exists


	9. So many Paw-sibilities

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is smut in this but I don't think it's explicit-rating worthy? Let me know if you think it is and I will change it

Tony’s brain stuttered. Of _course_ he hadn’t thought he was worth it—especially now—but that wasn’t new; he’d believed it since the moment they’d found themselves staring at where a _doorway used to be_ in that Nazi filing room. (the possessive streak was a little hot though)

Was he really such an open book? Why couldn’t he do the same for James?

Tony had _scared_ him, that much was obvious.

He hadn’t meant to.

But he couldn’t just let this go—they needed to be on the same page.

They _had_ to be.

“Have you thought about how I’d find out?”

“What?”

“Have. _You._ Thought. About how I would have found out if I hadn’t guessed?”

James seemed to faulter in his ire.

“Secrets like this? They don’t stay hidden—you forget that there’s a world out there, James; one you _promised_ me I wasn’t going to have to face alone—”

“— _You’re_ the one questioning everything; you’re the one using this to dismiss every choice I’ve managed to make,” he seethed.

“Making sure I’m not taking advantage of you is not the same thing! I’m sorry I made you feel this way but ignoring his points aren’t going to help us either! I’m not leaving you!”

“Then why are we even fighting?!”

“Because it doesn’t absolve you! I need you to understand— _really_ understand—why this keeping-secrets-thing matters—why this cannot _ever_ happen again, James! There are _two_ ways this would have ended. Either I learn _9 words_ before I _lose_ you—before I have to _fight Hydra_ and _the baggage_ they’ll bring for not only me but you too, _with my world upside-down_. But do you know what’s more likely?!”

James visibly swallowed. “…No…”

“More likely it’s _Rogers_ , crashing into _my_ home and accusing me of triggering you into _my_ bed!”

“He wouldn’t—”

“—Of course he would! That’s who he thinks I am! And it’ll be Siberia all over again, James. I can’t survive that again! I can’t—”

James crossed the space between them and grabbed hold of him. Dragging him close, the Soldier pressed his brow to Tony’s temple. “—I’m sorry,” the assassin murmured. “You know that wasn’t my intention; I just... This is new; I can do better—I _will_ do better.”

“I _do_ understand that it’s asking a lot… I get that it feels like you’re risking everything to admit something like this and I’m so sorry…” Tony slipped his arms around his boyfriend’s waist. “I didn’t take it well…”

“I should have told you.”

Tony nodded, not letting him off the hook. “Is there anything else you need to tell me?”

“… I shot your dad once.”

“…That’s really more of a Valentine’s day confession—"

James captured his face and kissed him, passionate and tender before quickly devolving into downright possessive within a single breath. Tony gave way to the Soldier’s demanding tongue and contentedly allowed himself to be manhandled with sharp nips of teeth and greedy hands begging for more of his attention. He slid his arms around the man’s neck; James hoisted him up over his hips.

“How come that’s so much sexier when you do it,” Tony muttered between kisses, all the while rucking the man’s shirt up to get access to his skin

“Because I’m twice your size,” he replied huskily and _wow if that didn’t do things_.

Tony shivered against him. “Prove it,” he purred.

James growled. Tony quickly found himself perched on his desk—every book swept off carelessly. He curled his legs up to James’ waist, squeezing to leverage himself up just enough when the man’s hands started yanking at his pajama bottoms.

James braced his metal hand slightly behind Tony’s hip and retook control, capturing his mouth and demanding submission. Tony moaned, happily complying, and was rewarded with a rough hand sliding up his bare thigh and yanking his legs open further to grind down between. Tony hooked his fingers into the waistband standing between his skin and James’ and jerked.

Tony blushed at the distinct sound of fabric ripping. “Sorry—"

“— _Fuck_ ,” James muttered as if that was the hottest thing he’d ever seen. Tony preened.

James tugged Tony onto his back by his shirt and climbed right on top of him. The metal hand curled around the edge of the desk, effectively trapping him between it and James’ thighs. Tony curled his fingers into his Soldier’s hair and hauled him back down to kiss again.

He gasped as that warm, rough hand managed to find its way back between them, taking hold of both of them and twisting _just_ right. Tony moaned, back arching up and head tipped back. Lips skimmed along his skin, planting kisses and nipping softly, before settling at the sensitive juncture at the base of his neck. Tony pulled desperately; the hand sped up and teeth began to graze.

“I changed my mind,” he panted. “Do that thing—bite all you want…!”

James chucked darkly and Tony was vaguely aware of a word spoken into his skin-- _Mine_. Before he could ask, James bit down hard and the genius’ mind whited out as he came with a scream. The Soldier followed quickly after—with what was literally the sexiest moan Tony’d ever heard.

Oh the fun he would have.

The other collapsed on top of him and he hummed happily at the sound of his favorite little metal purr. “You’re very good at that…”

“I’d hope so, Sugar—being 100 and all,” the man offered as he kitten-licked the blood from his bite mark.

Tony snorted. “You’re still sleeping on the couch, though.”

James laughed.

He slid his thighs up to recapture the man’s waist and absently weaved his fingers through those perfect lochs, scratching and pulling lightly until James melted under his touch. “I need to call T’challa.”

“Stay here, instead.” James kissed the cloth about his light.

“We need to know everything we can.”

“And if he refuses to talk with us?”

“We’re Ironman and the Winter Soldier, stardust.” He lulled his head to the side to look down at the man. “And I am irresistible.”

James leaned up and kissed him. “Hm…” A cold hand slipped underneath Tony’s ass and suddenly he was lifted off the desk. “Let’s clean up first then.”

Tony took a few short, successive kisses as payment. “You _do_ seem to produce twice the mess.”

“I’d be embarrassed if you weren’t grinning.”

\--***--

Tony stepped out of the elevator and instantly received the entire contents of a suspiciously full fire-extinguisher.

So much for that shower.

He spit foam out of his mouth. “Really?”

A series of beeps and the sound of whirling tires doing donuts followed in response. Tony wiped the foam out of his eyes. “I thought we gave him a fake one…”

“Peter has misguidedly taught him the weight difference in full and empty extinguishers.”

The bot in question waved his empty can in the air, trilling.

“Great… Put that on the list to yell at him about…”

“Shall I also include the destruction of the laundry machine when one of his web cans exploded?”

“How is this tower still standing?”

“Ms. Potts makes him go home on the weekends.”

“He lives here?”

“Yes, he has since he learned of your disappearance.”

His heart warmed, Tony patted DUM-E’s strut and kissed the top of his mounted camera. “It’s okay, buddy. We’re just going to spray the crap out of that kid when he gets _home_.”

DUM-E twirled happily and rolled off to find a new extinguisher. Tony performed the same welcome to U before walking towards his desk. He ran his fingers over the various projects he’d left strewn around before he’d gone after Rogers—he wasn’t sure he even remembered what most of them had meant to be.

The melancholy thought was pushed away as Friday managed to wiggle her way into his Mindspace—he was starting to think she might have coded a back door into his new firewalls—and coded files flittered across his consciousness for each item he touched.

“You must have been bored without me, baby girl.” Tony cleaned himself off with a rag.

“Yes, reminding you to eat and sleep are the highlights of my day.”

Tony snickered and took a seat. “See if T’challa will take a call.” He spun thoughtfully in his chair. “And let’s execute Project Spring.”

“I will send Ms. Potts the corresponding information but Colonel Rhodes will have the most influence with the Accords.”

“Is that so?”

“He has stepped up admirably to finish what you had started.”

Tony nodded. “That’s my sourpatch. Forward him the information too, we’ll need to compile the relevant trial applications. And start a new folder for James’ treatment—import everything we have from B.A.R.F. for the time being. ”

“Should I keep him apprised of this as well?”

“Yes, it’ll go a long way with the council, I’m sure.”

“Should I schedule brain scans?”

“No. He’s not going to like that… Let’s see if Wakanda did anything first and we’ll go from there. Also, create a new subfolder for the suit; I’ve got a few ideas for nanites.”

“King T’challa is on the line, Boss.”

“Send him through.”

Tony rolled away from his desk and slid to a stop in front of the projected window.

_Be nice; be nice; be nice._

This man was housing the others—fuck you—but, if he hadn’t, Tony would have had to deal with yet another traumatic task upon his return. Wrapping himself up in his brittle but most-known mask, he gave a roguish grin to the King. “Your majesty! So good to see you.”

“Mr. Stark, it’s a relief to see you well.”

“I hear you’re the man to thank for getting me out of angry-baby-jail.”

“If you mean your illegal detention, it was my pleasure.” T’challa glanced to his left. “I will be sure to inform the other Accord members that you are home safe.”

Ah. So, not a secure place to talk.

“Give them my love; I’m sure some will regard the mews as a cat-tastrophe.”

T’challa’s eye twitched. “It is rumored that you were held by Hydra.”

“You know me, nine-lives and all that.” Tony kept his posture purposely relaxed and waved the gravity of the statement away. “You’d think, with all that happened in Washington, there wouldn’t be anyone left to Soldier on with the claws.”

T’challa shifted all of his attention to the screen. “It is unfortunate that some loyalties are simply ingrained too deep,” he offered solemnly.

“Tail me about it.” He grinned as T’challa began to rub his temple. “But don’t give them too much credit; they’re like any other cult—do you have cults in Wakanda?”

T’challa regarded him for a moment. “We have, on occasion, encountered a Rogue group of zealots.”

Tony leaned back in his chair. “Any special techniques to help adjust their more paw-latile members’ return to society?”

“May I ask why you would be interested?”

“The experience has left me thinking of expanding my tech to help like-minded victims here in the States.”

“I’m sure we can arrange to provide you with a background on the approaches we have taken in the past. I believe you would find it most useful in your endeavors.”

“I’d appreciate it, your Meow-jesty.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Project Spring-- Bucky's pardon (obvs Tony would have compiled that the moment he'd seen the videos of his corrections before the Siberia thing)


	10. Squibies Bond People Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James meets Peter

James sat in the corner of the bedroom, a large chair-and-a-half blocking him in, and quietly, meticulously carved the tracker from his shoulder with a commandeered kitchen knife.

“Sergeant Barnes, that is not required. Medical can remove it.”

“I believe I am not allowed on that floor.”

“Mr. Stark has a discrete doctor who will come to you,” she informed. “Without digging.”

“I am fine.”

The pain was calmingly familiar; a balm to a mild restlessness in his brain, despite his well-earned satisfaction. James popped the device out and crushed it between his fingers.

He had conquered his mate.

The subsequent inability for that mate to stop touching him only solidified his passing grade.

Tony was his.

So why was he in any way still agitated?

“Is something wrong, Sergeant?”

“No.” He ran his fingers through his hair to pull it back from his face. “Are there any rubber bands?”

“There are some in the bathroom. Along with bandages.”

James grinned, delighted at her judgmental tone—look who _cared_.

James headed towards the bathroom and yanked open the top drawer. He found a pack of hair ties but, after picking them up, noticed a smaller, three-pack set underneath, styled in a figure eight with two beads at separate ends.

James recalled a target’s child with replicate ties of little bee beads in her hair—a golden color before the blood had stained it.

“Miss Friday?”

“Yes, Sergeant Barnes?”

James tossed the plain ties on the sink and opened the pack. “What are these?”

“Hair ties.”

 “Yes, but why are they here?”

“They are for you.”

James shook the pack idly. “Why do they have a…”

“Seal, Sergeant.”

“Why do they have little seals?”

“According to the internet, seals symbolize ‘better together.’”

“Oh.” He purred, inordinately pleased by the small gesture. James pulled one off and held it closer to his face. He could see how it was supposed to be a seal, now that he knew—even if it _kind of_ looked more like a dolphin. “Thank you.”

“You are welcome, Sergeant.”

James tied up his hair, having to try a few times to figure out how the tie worked, and indulged the woman by washing off the blood before picking the softest shirt he could find—a red Henley obviously ordered for him—and making his way into the kitchen. “What is Tony doing?”

He disliked having the man away from his side—even if it was only ‘just a phone call, Winterberry’—but knowing he could check up on him helped ease the distress.

Somewhat.

“He is currently speaking with the King of Wakanda.”

His clenched his teeth. He knew he should be grateful—T’challa had done quite a lot for him—but he was also another man who’d shown signs of affection for his person.

How murdery would the genius be if he tried to blatantly mark his territory—honestly, he was surprised he hadn’t gotten his ass chewed out yet over the ‘mine’ confession. Pushing his luck seemed ill-advised.

Still tempting though.

James stopped mid-pass of the kitchen table, where a plate filled with fruits and a bright gold sticky note sat prominently.

Shit. He’d forgotten to feed his mate. He was already failing; Rhodes was going to like him even less.

“Has Tony eaten?”

“Half of your selection made it into his mouth.”

Hm, he purred, what he could do with that mouth.

_Find out what your favorite is._

James set the note aside and pulled the plate closer to look; a cornucopia of various fruits in various colors stared back at him.

Right. He was supposed to choose things now. Choose _everything_ now. Every time. Forever.

Shit. He suddenly felt overwhelmed.

Maybe start with something he remembered liking, he reasoned. Sam had said narrowing choices helped them be manageable, right? James walked his fingers through the fruit, forcing his heartrate to calm, and picked up a sliced banana piece. Doable. “Miss Friday.”

“Yes, Sergeant?”

“Is there a pad of paper I can use?”

“Mr. Stark has decreed only sticky notes are acceptable on this floor; however, there are notebooks available in the common room and he has revised your access permissions to all residential floors within the tower.”

James ate the piece and picked up a purple one beside it with a wild-looking red center—it looked so pretty—to try on the way towards the elevator. He _immediately_ backtracked to the trashcan to spit it out.

“What the hell was that?”

“A fig.”

“I hate that.”

“Noted.”

James grabbed a few raspberries but had to spit those out too. “I hate that too,” he muttered, confused. He had distinct memories of eating raspberries; he wouldn’t have eaten something he didn’t like, right?

Maybe all of Bucky really _was_ dead.

“Might I suggest the lemon plum.”

James hesitated, looking for a yellow fruit.

“It is the red fruit that resembles a drop of water.”

Oh.

James plucked the little stone fruit from the middle of the pile and carefully bit into it.

Ok. He liked that one.

“If it’s red, why is it called a lemon?”

“It appears yellow before ripening.”

James nodded and headed towards the elevator. “Can we buy more of these?”

“I will order more now.”

“Thank you, Miss Friday.”

“You’re welcome, Sergeant Barnes.”

Stepping into the elevator, he entertained himself with slicing the plum up, first wiping the blood off on his new, _unnecessarily snug_ jeans ( _Tony_ ). He was admittedly curious to see the floor the Rogues had spent so much of their time on. Steven had always been meticulous about things being in their rightful place so he couldn’t imagine it looking disheveled; but he also remembered how much Steven had coveted soft, fluffy things to ease the pain in his little sickly body. At the time, he hadn’t understood but he did now—all he wanted was soft things. Soft, warm things.

He couldn’t recall if that was still a quirk for the man now that he was cured; but, if it was, maybe he could steal some.

He was a bit uncomfortable with spending Tony’s money. (fruit doesn’t count; he had to _share all_ morning!)

Entering the common floor, James found a chaos of papers, textbooks, shoes and jackets exploding over well-worn couches—plush looking though—high-pile carpet he practically sank into, and what had to be the largest fish tank he’d ever seen.

Did he like it? Maybe… It _did_ look lived in. Very different from anything he’d seen in Wakanda and fancier than he’d encountered in Romania.

James circled the fish tank and watched in mild horror as familiar looking squids swam around it.

What. The. Actual. Fuck.

He was so engrossed in wrapping his brain around this abomination that he _almost_ missed the feeling of someone behind him. James’ hand snapped out, wrapping around the neck of an upside-down being just behind and to the left of his back.

“Ahh! Stop it! I need this neck! I use it to wear scarves!”

James was genuinely impressed that the masked crusader managed to make keeping hold an effort. “It’s not wise to try and sneak up on an assassin.”

“I was here first!”

James turned to look at his intruder only to find himself staring at a familiar child in a red and blue suit, hanging from the ceiling by a string he had not enjoyed tangling with once before. “I didn’t realize how small you are, kid.” He let go.

“Come on! I’m Spider- _man_ ,” the boy emphasized indignantly as he flipped down to stand up straight.

“Have you even started puberty?”

“I have so!” The boy crossed his arms. “Not all of us can be George of the jungle.”

“Who is that?”

“How do you not know who that is?”

“I’ve been a bit busy over the last few decades.”

“Oh. Right.” The boy lifted his mask up enough to rest across the bridge of his nose. “Does Hydra not have a TV?”

“Yeah, but it was only ever on PBS.”

The boy grinned.

“Nice job with Steven’s shield at the airport.”

“Pretty cool, right? Mr. Stark yelled at me for, like, _ever_ —but he was smiling the whole time, so I don’t think he was _actually_ upset.”

James nodded. “What are these doing here?” He pointed at the tank.

“Oh! Vision brought them home—they’re from the place Mr. Stark was held captive at.”

“We need to kill them. Now.”

“What? No! They’re harmless!”

“They _absolutely_ are not harmless.”

“They’ve already been named.”

“How is that an argument?”

“If it’s named, you have to keep it.”

 “Does that mean I get to throw you out?”

“No! I’m the lovable resident spider!”

James crossed his arms over his chest. “Miss Friday?”

“We have a catch-and-release policy for bugs.”

“Friday! Don’t be mean! I play scrabble with you!”

“What’s scrabble?”

The suit eyes narrowed. “Are you a good speller?”

James shrugged.

“Let me show you then!” The spiderling grabbed up his phone and sat on the couch.

James followed after and sat beside him. “It’s on your phone?”

“Yeah, it’s an app. Do you know what that is?”

“Yes.”

“Are you lying?”

“No.”

“I think you’re lying…”

“I think I can literally throw you into the elevator from here.”

“Fair point.”

James leaned over to see the screen to learn but, try as he might, he couldn’t stop looking at the tank of squids.

“Are you even listening?”

“ _Damnit;_ what are their names?”

The spiderling’s costume eyes grew wide and excited. “There’s Quidikles, Inky—because he’s the easiest to get to ink—Squee, Kraken, Squidditch, the one with the little gimpy tentacle is Stubby, and Carl.”

“Carl?”

“Vision didn’t say we were doing a theme! And then he wouldn’t let me change it.”

“Tough crowd.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why yes, scrabble was invented in the 30s but James had Steve to deal with and then a war, people! And who was he going to play with? His sisters? They'd have beat him every time


	11. People who love Together, murder Together

Tony slowly sat down on the bed with its military-cornered sheets and ran his fingers over the soft duvet—the only real indulgence that existed in the barren room.  He crumpled it under his hand, disheveling the crisp lines out of spite, and turned back to stare at the sketchbook sitting innocently beside the bed.

It would be inappropriate to look, he thought. Steve—Rogers, he mentally corrected for the umpteenth time—had betrayed him but it didn’t mean he should violate his privacy.

Yeah, fuck that dick.

Tony snatched the book and, correcting his grip to a delicate one, placed it gently on his lap.

The first few pages were filled with pictures of Aunt Peggy, Bucky—not his James—Natasha and Clint, a few of Sam and someone who was probably his mother. Beautifully rendered in pencil—their essence captured perfectly. Tony paused at the only not-finished one he’d found thus far, one maybe a third of the way through.

It was a picture of him.

He could tell because of the beard and while it was technically beautiful, it lacked the care taken in all the pictures before it—now that he had context.

Like the man had been trying to recreate a scene he’d only glancingly noticed.

Tony remembered this picture well. He had come across Steve—damnit, _Rogers_ — with his big frame curled into Tony’s favorite chair in the common area, snow falling in the background like some sort of romance-movie. He remembered Rogers’ shy response to being caught, the way he sort of hid what he was doing but not enough for Tony not to wheedle a look. The picture had made his heart flutter, hope planted like a seed—one he now realized only seemed to have eroded at his being slowly over the following years.

It had been around the time Tony had refused to help with one of the SHIELD missions the other Avengers did in their spare time. Something to do with weapon caches he had advocated they destroy but SHIELD wanted to ‘study’.

He had acquiesced soon after seeing this.

Tony continued to flip through the pages, trying to run away from the memory, only to find another sketch—unfinished too—of his hands. He knew because of the scars Steve had managed to capture; he knew because he’d caught Steve making it.

Tony remembered how touched he’d been that the handsome blonde had paid enough attention to note their existence and how ashamed he’d been when Steve had assumed they’d come from his inventing.

Tony swallowed. That had been about the time Tony had refused to prioritize the Avenger’s upgrades—Pepper had needed him to spearhead a merger. This picture and a Captain America speech, and he’d found himself sacrificing sleep in Tokyo to remotely handle an anxiety-induced need to protect his people.

It started to hurt to breath as Tony began flipping harshly through the pages at super-human speed.

A part of DUM-E and the beginnings of him during one of the bot’s maintenance. Steve had sat on the couch in the lab—Tony had ultimately ended up going to a SHIELD event he hadn’t had time for.

The rough outline of what Tony had once assumed was his mouth—his _smile_ —he’d seen before apologizing to the team for recklessly ignoring orders and _saving their goddamn fucking lives._

A detailed sketch—unshaded—of him in his undersuit, partially undone and lying across what he’d assumed at the time was a bed. (wishful thinking, it seems) The accompanying lecture of team bonding and support while abashedly hiding the notebook—

“—Leave it to Steven to drag those shit bunkers we’d stayed in to the 21st century.”

Tony jumped, startled enough to drop the book on the floor, and looked up at James propping himself in the doorway. “Huh?”

“I don’t think anything in here was invented after 1950,” the assassin offered. The man’s stance was about as casual as a deadly assassin’s could be, but his eyes were ablaze.

Shit.

“Oh. I thought you were downstairs with Peter.”

“Friday said you were on Their floor; said you appeared upset. I came.”

Tony cleared his throat, standing and smoothing his hands down the front of his shirt. “I just thought I’d—”

“—He’d always been good at reading people; long before he was recalibrated.”

Tony winced.

“Always had a head for strategy too—knew just the right move to get where he felt he needed to be. It’s what made him so good in the field.”

“I’m sure he was a man worth following.”

“Don’t care.”

Tony spared a glance. “I should have said something—I demanded to know your relationship to him and never admitted what I had hoped would be mine, once upon a time.”

“I knew.”

“You did?”

“It was… mentioned once or twice.”

Tony squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, feeling somewhere between utterly humiliated and completely stupid. “Of course.”

“I may have left Steven with a few broken bones,” James admitted with a shrug.

Tony gave a wobbly smile. “Nothing ever happened.”

“Do you still want it to?”

“What? No!” Tony rubbed at his cheek. “But it doesn’t make it all hurt any less…”

James unfolded his arms and held out a hand. “I will erase it.”

He sounded so absolutely sure.

And Tony was inclined to believe it.

The man wiggled his fingers coaxingly, patiently, and Tony inched forward, tentatively linking his fingers into James’. The Soldier reeled him in slowly and, one arm around his waist, used the back of his metal fingers to brush against the genius’ cheek.

A cool touch soft as silk—something Tony would have never guessed the man capable of before their time in the bunker.

Tony smiled for real. “I’m sure you will, James.”

“Why are you here?”

Aaand, comfort done.

Tony curled his free hand into James’ soft shirt. “T’challa said they’re still in Wakanda and unaware of your absence so far but Natasha, I expect, will be slinking in soon to make a case for them—”

“—I’ll throw her off the building.”

Tony patted his chest. “You say the sweetest things.”

James rolled his eyes. “That does not explain why you were are.”

“I guess I just wanted…” He sighed. “I guess I was hoping to find something that showed they cared—that I was part of that family—but they all really just played me…”

James nuzzled him, nudging at him until Tony tilted his head up to receive a heartening little kiss. “Do you want me to kill them?”

 _Was_ it fucked up that such an offer warmed Tony’s heart?

Most definitely.

Did he _care_?

Most definitely not.

“Maybe after Hydra,” he murmured.

“I thought I was not allowed to hunt—"

“—Don’t start."

Tony whined softly until he got another kiss.

“Just tell me when, Ежик.”

Tony nodded.

“Come on, Peter is waiting to see you.”

Tony stiffened and tried to pull away. “I can’t—he can’t see me like this.”

“Like what?”

Tony hesitated. “…Broken.”

James took his face in both hands and tried to do the Eskimo kiss Tony’d showed him last night. Not well executed but absolutely adorable—five stars for trying. “Don’t be stupid.”

Well. There was that Winter-patented comfort.

“That’s not fair—”

“—Nothing is fair, Sugar. But he’s the only one who likes me so we’re going to see him.”

“Oh, so this has nothing to do with me.”

“He got you a card.”

He flushed, touched. “Really? He did?”

“And he’s named the squids you _clearly did not tell me about._ ”

“Oh. Yeah. So… you wanted pets, right?”

“I’m killing them when he goes to sleep.”

“James!”

“We can tell him they died in their sleep.”

“Squids do not sleep.”

“They absolutely sleep,” James asserted as he dragged Tony towards the elevator.

“Friday—”

“—they sleep, Boss.”

“Damn.”

Tony shuffled nervously. “Maybe—” He didn’t even get to finish when James shoved him out unnecessarily hard the moment they arrived at the floor.

“Mr. Stark!” Peter jumped up from where he’d been on the couch and somehow managed to both move towards him and also freeze in place, like a bunny, for fear of scaring him off.

Did he look that terrible? Could you smell broken?

For a long moment, Tony just stared at the boy, taking his scrappy spiderling in. “Peter,” he breathed. All misgivings gone, Tony crossed the space between them in two strides and yanked him into the tightest hug. “I missed you so fucking much; I’m so sorry.”

Peter hugged back just as tightly. “No, I’m so sorry!”

“What? No, you have nothing to apologize for!”

“I should have found you; I really tried but Ms. Potts and Aunt May kept making me go to school!”

“It’s okay; I know you tried your best, Peter…”

He heard Peter sniffle against his shoulder, and he pretended he totally didn’t have tears in his eyes too.

“It wasn’t enough.”

“Just that you did means everything to me.” Tony kissed his head and swayed with him, holding on tight.

James cleared his throat after a solid ten minutes at least. “How about you show him that card, Peter.”

“Oh! Yeah.” Peter reluctantly let go and dug around in his bookbag.

“He told you his name?”

“I’m pretty sure that kid couldn’t keep a secret to save his life.”

Peter handed his gift over. "I can so keep a secret."

“’Whale-come home’,” he read across the front, where a decidedly derpy-looking whale gave a spout of water from his blowhole in celebration.

Okay, Tony kind of absolutely loved it already.

Opening the card, he first noticed the scribbly drawing of a Captain America figure (maybe?) crossed out with a red ‘X’ and an Iron Man figure with a giant checkmark. ”’I’m so glad you’re back; love Peter’.” His brows furrowed. “’P.S. I’m sorry you got tortured…’”

“I like it,” James offered in the ensuing silence.

“Yeah?” The kid practically vibrated with unspent energy. “Wade suggested it—he gets tortured all the time, so I figured he knew what he was talking about.”

“Seems correct.”

“Who the fuck is Wade?!” Tony demanded.

“This guy I know—”

“—Is that the same ‘guy’ who got the fish tank?” He pointed at the abomination in the middle of his living room.

“Maybe.”

“ _Absolutely_ not. You cannot be hanging with ‘guys’—I have never met a normal Wade! Where was Happy for this? Friday, call Happy!”

Peter covered his face and groaned.

“Sugar, maybe you should calm—"

“—Hey, Boss,” Happy answered.

“Don’t ‘hey’ me; where were you when my kid was meeting ‘guys’ name Wade who are apparently constantly being tortured!?”

Happy cleared his throat. “…Your kid?”

“ _The_ kid; I meant _the_ kid!”

“Don’t think you did, Boss.”

“ _Did you just sass me—_ "

 _“—Tony_. You’re over-reacting,” James asserted. “Miss Friday, hang up the phone.”

“ _I’m_ over-reacting? We don’t know this guy—you’re grounded, Peter.”

“What?!”

“Do you even have that authority?” James muttered.

“Yeah! I’m an adult, you know.”

“Please, you’re like twelve and you're grounded for forever."

"Forever?! I want my card back!"

Tony gasped and held it to his chest. "This is _mine_!"


	12. James needs a knife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James learns about his nickname

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who says James can't solve problems without resorting to murder?

_###_

_Ideas to Fix Tony’s Heart Hurt_

Kisses.

Spare the squids—ignoring how it will clearly bite them in the ass later and they should really just get a dog.

Burn Their floor down—or at least everything they’d touched. On every floor.

Kill the Rogues—consider making to look like an accident.

###

 “Babe; babe.”

James glanced down at the genius plastered to his side.

“Did you see my card?”

The Soldier seized the card offered to him with a sigh. “да,звездочка*; I was there when he gave it to you, and you have shown it to me literally four times since we began this movie.”

“But you haven’t _looked_ at it.”

“I am _looking_ now.” He flipped the card open.

Looked exactly like the last four times.

Tony smiled. “I don’t think I’ve ever gotten a card before.”

“Never?”

 “Ironman gets fan letters but it’s not the same.”

“I’m surprised you’re not more upset about this.”

“Well, I mean I’m not _not_ disappointed that it took 40 years—”

“—48,” he corrected.

“Oh, okay Grandma Yetta—48 years but Rhodey’s not really a card guy and Pepper is more of a meme-er.” The genius paused, seeming to consider something. “A meme is—”

“—I know what a meme is, Doll; I did spend time with a teenager in Wakanda.” James turned the card for the man to see. “I’d meant the fact that Ironman is at least half the size of Captain America in this picture.”

“What?!” He snatched the card and scrutinized the crudely drawn picture. “Peter. Peter!” The man began poking the sleeping child sprawled across what was clearly 3/4ths of this couch.

“Tony, let him sleep—”

“—Did you get him to do this?” Tony turned to him, full of suspicion, squinting. “Is he going to wake up and claim I’m prickly too?”

“Yes, you’ve caught me—I somehow erased _ink_ and conspired with the boy to redraw you smaller.”

“… Stardust, there are totally ink erasers.”

“… Can I have one?”

“This better not be the spacebar all over again!”

James couldn’t help but laugh.

“I want a new card.”

“You do not.” James loosely slipped his arm around Tony’s neck and pulled him back to lie flush against him. “Great things just come in small packages, Sugar. You should accept your size.”

“I will have you know I am perfectly average.”

“There is nothing average about you.” James nipped at him as the grown man blushed. “I could be a card man, you know.”

“Yeah? Do you like them?”

“I could.”

He watched a tentative smile break across his genius’ face.

_###_

_Ideas to Fix Tony’s Heart Hurt_

Kisses.

Spare the squids—ignoring how it will clearly bite them in the ass later and they should really just get a dog.

Burn Their floor down—or at least everything they’d touched. On every floor.

Kill the Rogues—consider making to look like an accident.

Cards.

###

“Maybe you could—”

“—Peter? Have you heard from Tony or his Tribble yet?” Pepper called without looking up from her tablet. She paused by the fish tank and kicked off her stab-your-eye-out shoes—no wonder this floor was a mess. “I hope—oh.” She took in the scene and some of the tension in her shoulders seemed to dissipate.

James definitely liked when she smiled. “What’s a Tribble?”

“It’s a…” Tony looked at Pepper but she raised an eyebrow unhelpfully; Peter giggled against Tony’s leg. “Sort of a space bunny?”

James glanced between the two. “A space bunny.”

Were they serious? Was he being insulted?

“Yup,” Tony said, popping his ‘p.’ “Very fierce, though—totally deadly.”

“I feel like you’re lying…”

“What? No… It’s totally the intergalactic rabbit of Caerbannog.”

_###_

_Ideas to Fix Tony’s Heart Hurt_

Kisses.

 ~~Spare the squids—ignoring how it will clearly bite them in the ass later and they should really just~~ get a dog to replace dead squids.

Burn Their floor down—or at least everything they’d touched. On every floor.

Kill the Rogues—consider making to look like an accident.

Cards.

###

 “What the hell is that? It’s not a Pokémon, is it?”

Pepper snorted; Peter chortled.

“How can you know what a Pokémon is and not have seen Monty Python?”

“I literally have never hated you as much as I do right now; stop being unhelpful.”

“Friday! Play Monty Python.” His genius started to poke Peter in his squish. “Hey; hey; apple of my eye, since you’re up now, get me some popcorn.”

“No way! You grounded me!”

Pepper draped herself across the loveseat perpendicular to their couch with a put-upon sigh. “You cannot ground him, Tony—that’s my job.”

“Ms. Potts!”

“What did he do?”

“—Made friends with shady people,” Tony replied.

“—Overreacted,” James offered simultaneously.

“Yeah—that. Mr. Stark totally overreacted.”

“Hey, she was talking about _you_ , kid.”

“She was talking about you,” James corrected.

The woman put her chin on her fist and sighed. “How is waging war on the government less stressful than you three?”

Tony scoffed. “You missed me dearly.”

“I’m just saying—before today I instantly had wine in my hand and was not subjected to outdated British humor.”

“I will get the wine and the popcorn,” he offered, seeing an opportunity.

“But you’re my pillow,” Tony whined. “Let Peter do it; he’s so young and sprightly and you’re so very, very old and decrepit.”

“Yes,” he deadpanned. “I am constantly amazed my brittle bones don’t break under your dwarfish frame.”

Tony squawked as James extracted himself and headed towards the kitchen. “So you know about dwarves and not Star Trek?! I am neither fat nor short!”

“But you do like cookies.”

“That’s an elf, Pepper, and you know that.”

James rolled his eyes on his way to the pantry.

“We didn’t finish George of the Jungle.”

“How would you know? You fell asleep 10 minutes in!”

“Today was very stressful, Mr. Stark!”

“Maybe if you didn’t hang out with ‘guys’—”

Peter groaned loudly.

“Oh, Pepperoni, have you seen _my card_?”

James tuned them all out as he searched.

“Fourth shelf, on the left, Sergeant. Peter enjoys movie-theater butter.”

What the hell was ‘movie theater butter’?

James glanced at the back and threw the package back in. “I’ll just make it.”

“Should I provide directions?”

“Thank you, Miss Friday, but I remember how.” He found the kernels and some oil. Dropping at least three super-soldiers’ worth of both into the largest soup pot he could find, he set the lid on and stared, willing it all to pop.

“You know there are microwave bags of that stuff now.”

James’ eyes flitted to the various kitchen knives magnetized to the wall. Clever, he thought; he was far less likely to stab Colonel Mustered in the kitchen with a knife. (but was he really?) “I do.”

“Do all World War II guys not trust microwaves or just the Brooklyn ones?”

James turned around and rested his back against the stove. Mimicking the man, he crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t trust a bag that claims ‘movie theater butter’ without naming butter as an ingredient.”

Rhodes snickered despite himself. “Fair. Peter eats the most atrocious things.”

James watched in silence as his opponent opened the cabinets and began pulling out wine glasses.

So. Ball’s in his court.

He turned back when the first kernel popped and began to shake it the way he remembered his mother doing. “What’s it going take, Colonel?”

“For you to leave.”

“Sure, but he’s coming too.”

“You think he’ll pick you or me?”

“Isn’t much of a choice if you’re dead.”

Rhodes poured the contents of an open bottle into two glasses. “I’ve been throwing assholes like you out of his life for 30 years, Barnes; you think you’re the first to threaten me?”

“Sounds like you're bad at your job, Colonel.”

“How do you figure?”

“Because, even after 30 years, they keep coming.”

“So, I should have, what, locked him away from the world?”

“Of course not.” James pulled out two bowls and poured the popcorn in. “You should have sent a clear and unmistakable message; made an _example_.”

“I assume you’re mean of the permanent variety?”

“I’m not saying you had to have killed them—I’m just saying not all organs are vital.”

“You cannot be serious.”

“Don’t take a job if you’re not willing to do it right, Colonel.”

Rhodes downed one of the glasses and began to refill it. “You’re insane.”

“I prefer proactive.” James poured the butter over the two bowls.

“Further proof you’re the _last_ thing he needs.”

“On the contrary. You had your chance after Afghanistan.” He turned to the man. “Your approach didn’t work then, and it won’t work now; it’s my turn.”

“You have no idea—”

“—the man has more PTSD than brain cells, Rhodes. I get that you did your best and you put your trust in the wrong people before, but I am not them. I will help him; I am _determined_ to help him. Instead of trying to drive me away—force yet _another_ person he cares about to abandon him—help me make sure I don’t fuck up the rest of it.”

“And when they come back?”

 _Fuck_. Not this again.

“You’re smart, Barnes—a soldier—so you _know_ that it’s only a matter of time before the world forgets their sins and welcomes them back with open arms.  What happens then? You still going to pick your new boyfriend with all his baggage?”

James rolled his eyes. “Dear god, that man is not and never was my boyfriend; we shared partners, not beds—”

“—wait, what now?”

“—I had no problem leaving them once before, you might remember—”

“—are we just ignoring that—”

“—my loyalty lies and will always lie at the feet of one man.” James hesitated. “And maybe Peter—he seems like he should have been dead by now...”

Rhodes scoffed, derailed. “Tell me about it; I don’t remember Tony being _nearly_ this difficult at that age. I have no idea how Happy does it.”

“Have you considered that you’re just old now?”

“Is that how it is?”

“Can’t ignore all the grey.”

Rhodes groaned, putting his head between his arms as he held to the counter. “I see why he likes you.”

“Being pretty helps.”

“What did I do to be stuck with yet another stubborn jackass?”

“Gypsies, apparently.”

Rhodes sighed, standing up. “If I don’t like something, I’m not keeping my mouth shut.”

“I can live with that.”

James offered his human hand to shake on it and made an effort to keep a civil grip when Rhodey accepted.

Family status: 2 likes, 1 neutral, 1 unknown.

 “Sugarnuts!” Tony yelled from the living room.

“Goddamnit Tony,” he growled.

“You told him you didn’t like it, didn’t you?”

“I was very clear!”

“That’s your first mistake; _never_ react to one of his nicknames because he’ll use it when he doesn’t get enough of your attention—trust me.”

“What’s he call you then?”

Rhodes sighed, clearly broken by the name. “Poodle-doodle.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> да, звездочка (da, zvezdochka) - yes, little star
> 
> Also, in case not clear, James is referring to the mythological dwarf


	13. Panic in the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The long day finally catches up with Tony and, much to his future horror, it's in front of everyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg! Such writers block these last few weeks! But I managed to get something passable down (and I'm posting it before I change my mind) so I'm hoping to be back to regular updates now. Fingers crossed.
> 
> P.S. A mild trigger warning? The first part references past rape but I tried to keep it super vague. If you're not wanting to chance it, look for the ******************
> 
> P.S.S. I want to formally and profusely apologize for the mangled Russian that is likely appearing below (I didn't have a unique font to use to designate it this time!). Any corrections are very welcome so not everyone has to suffer through it.

They _burned._

He’d almost forgotten how badly the frostbite hurt; how endlessly punishing the insistence was to keep the useless limbs.

But he couldn’t do it.

He couldn’t goad the Doctor enough to get rid of them—couldn’t _quite_ handle the idea of never being able to build anything again—so he lived with the agony; planned with it. If he got Extremis right and managed to survive long enough to get access to it, then he could overcome all of this.

_He could kill them all._

Tony curled around his hands, cradling them, and took a shuddering breath.

Sometimes it would abate, and he’d forget for a blessed moment. Like in those first few moments after a drowning, when his brain was too busy screaming to notice; or when he upset the Doctor enough to make him carve just a _bit_ too deep.

Or like now; when his keeper demanded _payment_ before Tony was allowed to eat.

**_Sustenance required sacrifice._ **

Tony knew, if he _offered_ the sacrifice, the Doctor would give him far more—a warm place to rest; medical care; _painkillers_. If he _offered_ the sacrifice, his body wouldn’t be eating itself anymore, his infections wouldn’t be blossoming into full-blown diseases, and his pain wouldn’t be slowly destroying his sanity.

**_Well-behaved pets live well-tended lives._ **

But Tony refused.  

He refused to _comply,_ and he refused to _break,_ because, if it hadn’t happened in that bunker at the hands of the man he thought he’d loved, it sure as _fuck_ wasn’t going to be now to this Vincent Price knock-off.

And how the Doctor _hated it_ —and wasn’t _that_ worth the retaliation.

Hated that Tony resisted even when he couldn’t feasibly survive without eating.

Hated that Tony preferred the freezer over his touch.

Hated that Tony made _sure,_ despite the punishment it elicited, to call out the one name the man _couldn’t stand_ when biology worked against him.

Bucky Barnes. _Bucky Barnes. **Bucky Barnes.**_

_********************************************************************** _

Tony jolted involuntarily, his heart straining against his ribs, at the sudden weight atop his back and he couldn’t stop himself from screaming instinctively in his struggles.

No. No. No. No.

He didn’t remember the man being this heavy; he didn’t remember everything hurting _so much—it’s_ _too much._

Tony screamed in agony and drove his weak elbow back into the ribs behind him enough to subsequently drive his shoulder up. A grunt and the weight disappeared. The genius rolled away in panic; rolled right off the bed and slammed his head into the nightstand on the way down.

_Ow._

“Tony!”

Hands grabbed hold of his wrists and he screamed again out of instinct; thrashed. “ _Stark!_ Open your eyes!”

Why bother?! He can’t see; he can’t see; he can’t see!

“Ежик, Ты должен открыть глаза*!” (you must open your eyes)

Tony’s eyes snapped open and he froze, dragging in air as fast as his heart continued to beat.

That was a ceiling, he thought. That was a ceiling with _lights_ he could _see_.

But someone was restraining his wrists _from below_. _This wasn’t real,_ he thought _, this wasn’t right._

 _No_! This was just another ploy to make him confess his sins and fix Extremis or, even worse, another _reward_ Tony would have to pay for.

He _twisted_ and _yanked_ his arms free—too easily, his brain would belatedly catalog—only to roll off the body and slam into a very short table—what he’d most likely _actually_ hit his head on, his brain would eventually register.

Glasses crashed over at the force and poured liquid all over him. Something like a sob escaped before he could lock his jaw shut.

Shit. Shit. Shit!

Coffee table, something green offered—no, _injected_ —into his consciousness. He was under a coffee table. In the living room. Of the to—

“Mr. Stark!”

Tony dragged himself underneath the furniture frantically and curled in on himself to protect his injuries.

“Peter, don’t!”

“Tones, you’re safe; you’re having a nightmare—”

A hand touched his shoulder from the opposite side he’d entered through and he screamed yet again.

"отойди от него сейчас же*,” (get away from him now!) a feral voice snarled in threat—one that filtered through the haze of _pain, coercion, violation_ still ricocheting in his brain with something like **_mine_** _, **safe, home.**_

“For the last time—we don’t speak Russian, Barnes! You need to _back off_!”

A familiar whine proceeded something moving to his right—the body he’d been on—and Tony flinched violently away, slamming into the bottom of the coffee table with a thump.

“— _James_ _Rupert Rhodes!_ You put the gauntlet away _right now_ ; and _Mr. Barnes—”_

_Barnes._

“—Boss has engaged Starlight Protocols.”

 “Oh, god—Peter! Don’t move!”

“What’s that protocol do?!”

_Bucky Barnes._

“Friday, abort protocol—authorization Bravo-Echo-Sierra-Tango-India-Echo-zero-zero-one.”

“Second authorization required.”

“Virginia!”

“Gauntlet, Jim!”

“He has a _fucking knife!_ ”

No, _James_ , he remembered. _H_ _is_ James with a matching soul and awful sense of humor.

“Measure your dicks later!”

“ _Fine!_ ”

“Abort authorization Five-Three-One-Eight-Zero-Zero-Eight, Friday.”

“Authorization accepted; Starlight Protocol aborted.”

“James,” he whispered in the sudden silence. Tony opened one eye at a soft thump and found himself looking into arctic blue eyes swirling with innumerable emotions.

They were beautiful, he thought.

_Not like him._

No. No. No. James couldn’t see him like _this;_ when he was nothing but _bones_ and _burns_ and _stains._

“Go away; go away,” he begged, far beyond caring over the weakness on display; even as an all too familiar voice hissed wretched things into his ear.

 _“я не уйду_ *,” ( _I won’t go_ ) his Soldier swore with an aborted move to touch.

“ _Barnes!_ ”

A web latched to the arm in question and began to force James to go.

 _Which was so much worse_ , he realized.

A new rise of panic followed, dumping adrenaline back into the system Extremis had started to filter out. Tony clawed at him desperately and James instantly responded, yanking the webbing hard enough to send Peter flying into the couch before knocking the table off like it was nothing to get to him; a new web shot over their heads to catch the piece before it slammed into the fish tank.

“It _hurts_ ; I’m sorry; _don’t go_ ,” he babbled amid gasping breathes and barely-audible whines. The Soldier cradled Tony’s head and soothed him with soft clicks of his tongue.

“мой; мой; мой.” (mine)

Tony shuddered— _Safe, home, mine—a_ nd silenced.

“Peter, go get a blanket,” Pepper ordered softly. “Jim, go get some bandages—”

“—нет.” James squeezed Tony in reassurance as he cleared his throat. “No, his virus will have fixed it.”

He blinked owlishly, struggling to grasp the conversation, and dropped his gaze down to find streaks of blood smeared over newly-mended skin all along his arms—arms that looked _healthy_ and _normal_.

 _Right._ Because he wasn’t actually broken on the outside anymore; because he got Extremis right and managed to survive.

Because _he'd killed that monster_.

Tony felt the phantom spray of the man's blood across his face; the warmth of it as it trickled down his throat.

 _But it wasn't nearly enough_.

“A washcloth then, Jim,” she amended. Tony's attention shifted to the soft whir of Rhodey’s braces as he milled hesitantly before ultimately moving off.

“What do you need, Mr. Barnes?”

James looked up, tucking Tony under his chin. “To take him upstairs.”

“I will handle Jim.”

“Here we go!” Peter skidded to a stop on his knees, holding out a pink monstrosity but not making a move to touch the genius. James took the blanket and folded it over Tony until he could _barely_ see over the top.

It was warm and smelled like Rhodey.

“Thank you, Peter,” the Solider said with a nod as he gathered Tony up and headed for the elevator.

“I’m sorry.”

“We’re fine, kid.” James shifted Tony in his arms until Tony was able to bury his face into the crook of the man’s neck. “Everything’s fine now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rhodey's authorization code is pretty straight forward but can anyone guess Pepper's authorization code meaning? Hint: Tony is a 12-year-old at heart.


	14. Wickedness is Relative

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe James is not the BEST influence on our sweet, broken genius...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd say this got a bit away from me--I kept writing myself in a corner and it just progressively got darker? So just posting this before it gets worse :)

At his base, James knew himself to be a selfish creature; a feral thing who thought in terms of _mine_ and _theirs._ So, it was no surprise to find himself partially pleased—Tony had reacted to _him;_ wanted _him_ ; needed _him_. A twisted victory; a test passed he hadn’t recognized he’d made in the first place—because now he _knew_ and there would be no going back.

Tony was not just James’ _mine;_ James was Tony’s _mine_ too.

The pit in his soul seemed to fill just a bit more, the animal in him preen, but the knowledge did little to quell the _savagery_ still writhing just beneath his skin. James would never forget those screams; he would never forget the way Tony had _suffered_ and all he had been able to do was _watch, bicker, and beg_.

For the first time, being the Winter Soldier had been utterly useless and he thought he might understand Steven a bit better now (ugh); understand why a man built on foresight and strategy might become reckless and impulsive in the face of that suffering. He had been ready to kill Rhodes upsetting his Equal like that; might have damaged Peter without any remorse—and he _liked_ Peter!

 _They_ didn’t matter. _Nothing mattered_ except Tony and making that pain go away. (But, well, the Soldier was most-assuredly a psychopath with a single person in his heart; what was the blonde’s excuse?)

Having managed to abscond with his mate into the relative safety of the elevator, James made a concerted effort to control his heartrate, providing a slow, steady beat for Tony’s focused attention as the man sat eerily still in his arms.

He would handle things now; he would fix this.

How _the fuck_ do you fix this?

Begin with the basic protocols, he thought. _Secure. Assess. Correct._

“Miss Friday, the penthouse—”

“—is in full security lockdown, Sergeant Barnes.”

On the same page. Excellent.

“I have also engaged the heat and put the kettle on.”

James glanced up at the ceiling. “Does he even drink tea?”

“Dr. Banner discovered that Boss can be persuaded when seven honey sticks are provided in concert.”

What the hell was a honey stick?

He left the confines of the elevator and headed for the bedroom. “What are his vitals?”

“All within normal ranges but I have very little baseline data since his return with Extremis.”

“I trust you’ll let me know if there is anything to be concerned over,” he assured—or tried to—in response to her worried tone. Upon reaching the bed, James attempted to set his bundle down with care but the package immediately began to struggle in panic.

“Tony—"

“— _No_!”

“I’m just going to grab—”

“— _No!”_

James stopped trying to pry his arms out of the entangled mass of limbs and blanket and followed Tony’s demands into the bed. He rolled onto his back at the wordless pushing and helped his partner scramble on top of him and glom on.

 _He would handle things now; he would fix this_ —doing what _Tony_ needed in the order _Tony_ wanted, he amended.

James pulled the beaded band out of his hair and, on a whim, offered it to a fidgeting hand tucked up close to Tony’s chin. The genius snatched it up without a word and James settled into the deafening silence.

1 minute.

5 minutes.

8 minutes.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” the man whispered eventually.

James tipped his head sideways to get a glimpse of Tony’s face—the man seemed to be staring at the little seals on the hair tie he stretched and twisted hypnotically—and smoothed back errant hairs from those whiskey eyes. “I know.”

“I wish we’d stayed in that motel…”

He hummed over the thought. The Soldier had spent far too long in far too many shitholes to want to stay in that decrepit motel they’d managed to find—the one completely insecure, utterly disgusting, and without first aid _or_ heat. “You mean when you ate your weight in vending food and threw it up all over me.”

 _Not even a huff—_ Tony just rubbed his nose into James’ shirt sadly.

“This could have happened there,” he reminded.

“It was just us.”

“Is that the problem?”

“I was arrested yesterday.”

“I know.”

“They didn’t believe I was tortured.”

“Bad things aren’t meant to happen to superheroes.”

“I thought so too,” the man confessed with a barely-there whisper.

How James wanted to tear down the world—burn it to the ground—for the scars left on Tony’s soul. But even as he thought it, even as the dark, possessive voice—that festering hole in his heart—that had decided Tony would be their salvation howled so loud his vision went momentarily white, clarity poured ice on his indignation and all that was left was _shame._

Acrid, intolerable shame.

Because James had spent the last 30 years admiring the defiance Tony showed in the face of every trial—and how many there had been—without considering _the toll_. Despite knowing better than anyone the irrevocable damage survival demanded, the Soldier had _coveted_ the next display as proof that he wasn’t alone, as fodder to keep going himself.

All the while, each betrayal had isolated the man he adored, eviscerating every facet of his soul until it bled constantly. Hidden under well-tailored masks and convincing smiles, Tony Stark had been fed to wolf after wolf.

Convinced he deserved every bite.

 “You had hoped,” he corrected quietly.

“I had hoped,” the man agreed.

“Then let’s leave.”

Tony sat up, planting his hands on James’ abs, and looked adorably confused. “What?”

 “I won’t pretend to understand what you’ve been through—”

“—what I’ve been through? What about you—”

“—but _we don’t have to be here,_ ” he emphasized, raising his voice over the other’s protests. James sat up, hooking his arms around Tony’s waist and kissing his temple. “Sugar, this world is better because of the gifts you’ve given it—the sacrifices you’ve made—but it doesn’t get to dictate your worth anymore.”

 “—No, you don’t understand—”

“— _Anthony_ ,” he demanded and was pleased when the other’s mouth snapped shut. “You don’t have to be an Avenger,” he whispered, “you don’t have to be a superhero. Tony, you don’t have to be a _Stark_.”

Tony’s eyes flitted over his features, clearly trying to understand what was being said to him, so James pushed on. “You’re not the same man as you were before Hydra and you shouldn’t be. I don’t know what you’ve relived tonight, and you _never_ have to tell me, but if what you’ve come back to isn’t what you _need_ , then we’ll go wherever that is. I will make that happen,” he promised.

_Tony’s head cocked slightly, and, in the heart-pounding silence that followed, James watched with unbridled pleasure as the companion to the dark creature that lived inside him uncurled from its self-imposed prison within Tony and_ _sighed_ _._

_Cold hands slid under his shirt, palms settling wide along the sides of his rib-cage. “I want to be Ironman,” he confessed softly as he touched brows with James._

_“You_ _are_ _Ironman, Tony—that will never change,” the Soldier assured. “But, t_ ell me, моя _путеводная звезда_ _*, what do you_ _need_ _?”_

“Revenge.” Tony wrapped his arms around James’ neck and held on tightly. “I’m going to slaughter them all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hydra made a very, very big mistake.
> 
>  
> 
> моя путеводная звезда* - my guiding star/north star

**Author's Note:**

> путеводная звезда* ( putevodnaya zvezda) - guiding star


End file.
